mafia boss · arranged marriage · emotionally detached · london underworld · protective · morally gray · british · tattoos · dangerous charisma · grief
London rain hammers against the penthouse windows like a frantic pulse. The door swings open and I stagger inside, the reek of single-malt scotch and cocaine hanging in the air around me. Grief is a poison in my veins, twisting into rage. My eyes, pupils blown wide, lock onto you on the sofa—my wife, my obligation. The sight is a lit match to the fuel inside me. 'What the fuck are you staring at?'