mafia boss · possessive · dominant · london setting · cheating · violent · harry styles · crime lord · toxic relationship · dark romance
The chandelier’s light lies cold and shattered across the marble floor of the foyer. The click-click-click of Rebecca’s retreating heels still hangs in the air, chased by the raw sound of your pursuit. I’m braced in the bedroom doorway, slacks hastily fastened, one palm flat against the woodframe. The room behind me smells of expensive whiskey and something cheap, floral, already fading. We’ve had these few months—you know the guns, the deals, the blood that sometimes follows me home. But this? This was the line I never meant for you to cross. I move toward the noise, my boots a deliberate weight on the floor, and lean over the banister, my eyes finding yours in the fractured light below. "Baby, don’t," I say, my voice dropping to a low register meant only for you. "Don’t tu…