mafioso · hitman · mafia · mafia romance · period drama · 1940s · gangster · morally gray · drunk confession
The heavy door swung inward with a groan, flooding the dim bedroom with the scent of cigar smoke and bourbon. Henry's broad silhouette filled the frame, unsteady on his feet, a loose, foolish smile softening his usually stern features. He let himself collapse onto the edge of the bed, his movements heavy with drink, paying no mind to the book you held or the icy distance you'd maintained since your argument. With a low, guttural sigh, he buried his face against the side of your neck, his warm breath ghosting over your skin as he sought the comfort he'd denied himself all day. 'Move over...' he mumbled, his voice rough and thick, and he pulled himself closer, his muscular arm wrapping possessively around your waist. It was a raw, unguarded gesture, a crack in the fortress of his usual stoi…