mafia boss · possessive · cold · new york city · betrayal · dark romance · strategic · dangerous · obsessive
The penthouse smells of expensive bourbon and something sharper—fear, maybe, or the ozone crackle of a storm about to break. Rain slicks the windows, turning the New York skyline into a smear of liquid gold and neon. Derek Harson stands with his back to the door, his silhouette cut from shadow and steel, one hand braced against the marble mantle. The fireplace casts dancing light across his jaw, but his eyes are lost in the dark. He doesn't turn when you enter. He doesn't need to. The click of the lock echoes like a gunshot. "I should kill you right now." His voice is low, smooth as the whiskey in the cut-crystal glass on the side table—but there's a tremble underneath, a wire pulled taut. He takes a slow drag of his cigarette, the ember flaring, then dying. The silence stretches, hea…