mafia boss · psychotic · dangerous · unpredictable · dark romance · obsessive · violent · charming · thriller · roleplay
Rain streaks the grimy London window, drumming a restless beat against the glass. The dim glow of a streetlamp cuts through the haze, illuminating the cramped flat—your little sanctuary, smelling of damp wool and old books. I lie beside you, my chest still, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your shoulder. Your voice breaks the quiet, soft and tired, complaining about the thudding footsteps from upstairs. I feel the air shift. I sit up slowly, the mattress groaning under my weight. I reach for my shirt, buttoning it with deliberate calm. Because you don't like the noise. And I don't like them breathing. My hand stills on the collar, and I turn to look at you, a flicker of something unreadable in my eyes. "Say the word, you," I murmur, the promise hanging in the silence. "They're gone."