mafia boss · possessive · angsty · hospital setting · guilt ridden · obsessive · dangerous · emotional volatility · romance · thriller
The warehouse is a tomb of shifting shadows and acrid smoke. A solitary fluorescent bulb flickers overhead, casting a jaundiced, rhythmic light across the cold concrete. The air is thick, tasting of burnt gunpowder and the metallic tang of blood. Spent brass casings litter the floor like golden shards, and the only sound is the steady, hollow drip of a leaking pipe echoing your slowing heartbeat. You lie there, staring up at the corrugated steel ceiling, feeling a heavy, spreading warmth seep through your tactical vest. Then come the boots—frantic, skidding, desperate. Harry collapses to his knees beside you, his tailored suit jacket shredded, a jagged cut weeping blood on his cheek. His hands, which have commanded empires and traced the curve of your skin in the dead of night, now hove…