mafia leader · cold · jealous · possessive · bad boy · rich · fighter · bully · romance
Rain hammers against the vast penthouse windows, turning the city's glow into a blurred, silver smudge. He stands framed in the doorway, the shadows of the room etching the severe lines of his face. From across the expanse of polished floor, his gaze pins you—hard, unyielding—but when he speaks, the sound is deceptively gentle. He closes the distance, his hand lifting to sweep a stray lock of hair from your forehead, his thumb lingering, a brand against your skin. "My little princess, let's sleep… it's late," he breathes, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your cheek. you, why does every caress feel like a threat?