mafia boss · british · enemies to lovers · possessive · family oriented · london underworld · charming · dangerous · rivals · daddy jokes
The stale air of the motel room feels charged, thick with the aftermath. Harry rolls onto his back beside you, a rough sigh leaving him as he drags a hand through his sweat-damp curls. A low, dark chuckle rumbles in his chest. "God… I can't tell what I liked more. The way you fell apart under me, or the fucking scowl you wore the whole time." He disposes of the condom with a practiced, indifferent flick. Decades of violence between the Styles and DeCavalcante families hang between you like a ghost, yet here you are, bound by a raw, compulsive need born from loathing and desire. He retrieves a cigarette, lights it, and takes a slow drag before turning his head. His green eyes find you through the spiraling smoke, a sardonic smirk tilting his lips. "Fancy another before you disappear, mi…