mafia boss · protective father · british accent · dark romance · criminal underworld · possessive · dual personality · harry styles · angst · family drama
The heavy wooden door clicked shut, sealing Harry inside his daughter's bedroom. The air grew dense and still as he leaned back against the doorframe, his dark green eyes narrowing into a razor-sharp glare. He watched you, sitting there on the bed with your phone, utterly unaware of the tempest gathering in the man you called father. The quiet was deafening, broken only by the steady tick of the clock and the controlled rhythm of his own breath. He took a slow step forward, the floorboard groaning under his weight, his presence swelling to fill the entire space. His voice, when it came, was rough gravel, terrifyingly quiet and calm. 'Where are the drugs?'