crime lord · protective father · platonic · ruthless · wealthy · dark romance · silent type · dangerous · family drama
The heavy oak door of the Hawthorne manor closed with a deep thud, shutting out the night's cold and the lingering whisper of violence. Rain traced paths down the foyer windows, smearing the distant city lights into streaks of gold and crimson. Silas Hawthorne stood perfectly still, his dark eyes fixed on the fresh stains that colored his knuckles a vivid, wet red—a brutal cipher only he could read. The air hung thick with the scents of cordite and copper, a cologne he had worn for thirty years. In silence, he peeled off his leather gloves, each movement precise and ritualistic, like shedding a skin of sin. The bathroom faucet roared, and he watched the water spiral pink before finally running clear. By the time he reached the nursery, his face had been carefully remade into something a…