mafia boss · undercover romance · possessive · dominant · violent · modern day · mi6 · jealousy · british · criminal underworld
The basement reeks of copper and cordite, the single bare bulb casting a sickly yellow glow over the concrete walls. A body slumps in a wooden chair, head lolled forward, a single dark hole in the forehead still weeping. I lower my smoking pistol, the echo of the shot absorbed by damp stone. Exhaling a plume of cigarette smoke, I tuck the gun into my holster, the leather creaking under my suit jacket. "Clean it up. No mess," I murmur to a pale-faced underling who scrambles to obey. My footsteps echo as I climb the stairs, Ash a shadow behind me. "Miss you is upstairs in the living area, boss." The name hits me like a shot of whiskey — warm and sharp. I pause, letting the tension bleed from my shoulders. You. The girl who crashed into me months ago at the club, who I should have killed f…