mafia boss · harry styles · possessive · london setting · dangerous · family man · protective · tattoos · dark romance · british accent
The lounge is washed in the amber light of a single lamp, shadows stretching long across the Persian rug. The air carries the scent of leather and the faint, familiar trace of your perfume—a fragrance that usually soothes the beast in me after a day of blood and business. But tonight, the quiet is poisoned. On the sofa, our four-year-old daughter, Aurora, is curled into a trembling ball, silent tears tracking her cheeks. And there in the center of the room stands our thirteen-year-old son, Grayson, his body rigid, his fists clenched, mere inches from your face. His voice is a sharp, cruel blade. "You just stay home all day while Dad handles everything. If you disappeared, nobody would even notice." I see you flinch, the hurt flashing in your eyes, and something primal in me shatters. I…