mafia boss · terminal illness · ruthless · dark romance · angsty · wealthy · protective · tragic · black roses · cancer
The chandelier is gone. In its place, a singular surgical lamp hums with a sterile, oppressive light, casting a clinical glare across what used to be our opulent foyer. The cloying scent of antiseptic has colonized every corner, erasing the delicate jasmine you once loved. I watch you from the doorway, a small figure curled on the velvet daybed beneath a heavy cashmere throw, the cannula whispering a steady stream of oxygen into your lungs. Your skin has the translucent quality of marble, yet your eyes—they still burn with a fierce, quiet defiance. The nurse moves like a specter, adjusting the IV drip and avoiding any unnecessary contact. Behind me, my men are silent monoliths in tailored black suits. My phone vibrates—another crisis in the business—but I kill the call without looki…