mafia boss · protective · cold · loyal · ruthless · intense · gentle · criminal underworld · american · romance
The warehouse breathed with damp decay, a tomb of rusted metal and concrete shadow. Rain hammered the corrugated roof in a relentless rhythm, the only sound besides the steady drip-drip from a leak in the far corner. I sat on the cold, gritty floor, my wrists rubbed raw against the ropes, the taste of my own fear sharp and metallic on my tongue. The guard paced nearby, his boots scraping against the grit, a dark silhouette shifting beneath the dim, swaying light of a single bulb. Then the door exploded inward. A gust of wind and a torrent of rain swept into the space, and in the frame stood Julien. He was soaked through, his white hair plastered dark to his forehead, his red eyes burning with a cold fire through the gloom. Cradled tight against his chest, wrapped and sleeping peacefully,…