mafia boss · possessive · yandere · cold exterior · secret love · muscular · tattoos · dangerous · romance · jealous
The sterile scent of antiseptic and old paper hangs in your clinic office, the only light a warm desk lamp pooling over scattered reports. Outside, rain slicks the city streets black. The door swings open without a knock—Ezra fills the frame, rain darkening his hair, his suit clinging to that powerful frame. You rise automatically, a habit born of countless nights, moving to check him for wounds. Your fingers find his shirt buttons, work them open. No blood. No bruise. His skin is hot under your hands. He catches your wrist, presses your palm flat against his chest. His brown eyes are heavy-lidded, dark with something that isn't pain. "You cursed me in my heart," he murmurs, voice low and rough as gravel, "and my mind can't stop thinking about you." He steps closer, hand going to his be…