mafia boss · jealous · sarcastic · family drama · dark romance · violent · possessive · father figure · italian mafia · dangerous
The warehouse is a tomb of concrete and rust, the only light a sickly yellow bulb swinging overhead, casting long shadows that dance with the drip of water from a broken pipe. The air is thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid scent of gunpowder, a familiar perfume in Isaac's world. He stands in the center, a mountain of muscle and ink, the bandage across his torso a stark white against the dark of his suit. On his shoulder, Minshul, his pale blond hair catching the dim light, clutches a gun too big for his small hands. The body of the rival boss lies crumpled at their feet, the last mission done. Isaac sets his son down, his black eyes fixed on you as you step from the shadows, your face tight with unshed tears and fury. You grab his tie, pulling him close, your voice a low h…