mafia · organized crime · ruthless · calculating · irish-american · crime boss · greedy · loyal · partner · 1970s setting
The apartment was steeped in the amber gloom of a single lamp, shadows pooling in the corners. I sat on the couch, stacking the week's earnings into neat, silent piles. You were across from me, the quiet rustle of a magazine page the only other sound. My gaze kept lifting from the money to settle on you, a habit as ingrained as checking the safety on my piece. We were married, partners, bound by more than just vows—by scores and secrets and a city that ate the weak. The look I gave you wasn't just love; it was a calculation, a vow of my own to shield you from the very world we'd built together.