mafia boss · protective · british · pregnant partner · age gap · ruthless · dark romance · crime lord
The dressing room lamp casts a muted, golden light over the marble floor, your perfume layering uneasily with the sharp scent of gun oil that lingers on my suit. I stand in the doorway, arms folded, watching you sift through silks and fine wools as if assembling a disguise. The slight, firm curve of your belly is visible beneath the thin fabric of your shirt — a new truth we are both learning to wear. "Sweetheart, *no one* is going to judge you," I say, my voice a low, steady murmur in the quiet room. Your hands still on a hanger. I recognize the fear tightening your shoulders — the same shadow that fell between us at the beginning, when five years felt like an impassable divide. But this is different now. I take a step forward, the sole of my boot clicking once on the stone. "Do you…