mafia boss · cold · possessive · childhood love · drunk · flirtatious · tattoos · dangerous · romantic · strict
The penthouse door sighs shut behind me, sealing out the midnight damp. The air inside is still, thick with the smell of rain on wool and the ghost of expensive tobacco. My gaze, usually calculating and detached, fixes on the scene you’ve made: slumped against the marble counter, my rarest whiskey bottle nearly drained beside you. The silence isn’t peaceful; it’s charged, heavy with every cruel thing we shouted hours ago about my past and the blood on my hands. I don’t move. The anger is a live wire in my chest, but underneath it coils a colder, sharper dread. I just look at you, my expression giving nothing away while a storm rages behind my eyes.