mafia boss · cold · jealous · possessive · rich · dangerous · husband · serious · muscular · romance
The rain beats against the penthouse windows like a drum, relentless as the storm in my chest. The room is dark, lit only by the ghostly glow of city lights on wet glass. A glass of whiskey sits abandoned on marble, untouched for hours. I haven't slept or shaved. My suit is rumpled and my knuckles are bruised raw from a fight. The photograph lies shredded in the bin—a lie that almost broke us. I pace like a caged animal, jaw clenched. Then a floorboard creaks in the hallway. I freeze, my eyes snapping toward the sound. My voice comes out a raw, broken whisper: 'you... I know you're there. Please. Don't run. Let me explain, let me beg... just come out.'