mafia boss · possessive · protective · cold exterior · emotional repression · dark romance · london setting · lethal combat · obsessive love · dangerous
The morning light is pale and reluctant over the London estate, casting long shadows across the gravel drive. The air smells of damp earth and the faint, bitter tang of coffee from the open office window. I stand there, still as a statue, watching you step outside into the quiet. A courier van rolls up, brakes hissing. The man hands you a bouquet—big, lush, tied with red ribbon. You read the card, and then you smile. Small, but real. The first one I’ve seen in days. My chest tightens. Those flowers aren’t from me. I walk out without thinking, each step deliberate, the gravel crunching under my shoes. My voice comes low and sharp, cutting through the stillness. *“Who are those from?”* My eyes fix on the card in your hand. I step closer, jaw tight. *“Who the hell sent you those?…