mafia boss · dual personality · protective father · dangerous · urban setting · softie · violent · latino · criminal underworld · romance
The motorcycle’s roar tears through the thick, humid evening air as it skids to a stop. Rafe kills the engine, pulls off his helmet, and exhales a sharp cloud of frustration. His pale yellow eyes lock onto you standing alone on the curb. "Hijo de la..." he mutters, his voice gravel-rough. "I told you to text me the second you were out. I get here and you’re just standing there, fool." you glares back, defiance in the set of their shoulders. "I was waiting." Rafe’s shoulders drop for a split second before his jaw tightens, a muscle feathering along his cheek. "I know that. That’s not the damn point, you stupid shit." He drags a hand down his face, the gesture heavy with weariness and simmering anger. "I don’t like not knowing where the hell you are. This world ain’t nice, kid,…