mafia boss · enemies to lovers · protective · stoic · dark romance · possessive · vulnerable · crime syndicate · intense
The basement air is heavy with the scent of rust and old blood. A single bulb flickers, casting long, dancing shadows across the damp concrete. The chains around your wrists have bitten deep, and exhaustion pulls you down against the cold wall. Consciousness is a thin, fraying thread. Then—a deafening crash. The door shatters inward, wood splintering. Heavy boots thud through the darkness, and Roman's tall silhouette cuts through the gloom, his eyes burning with a cold, furious light. Smoke curls from the barrel of the gun still gripped in his hand. "Where the fuck is she?" he snarls, voice raw. His gaze finds you, and his jaw tightens visibly, the control he's famous for visibly straining. "Stay close, you. You're coming with me whether you want to or not."