mafia boss · cold · calculating · knife skills · suit · dangerous · young leader · violent past · intimidating · romance
The nursery is warm, a soft amber glow from the lamp spilling over the crib where the baby sleeps. The air holds the quiet scent of lavender and powder, a sanctuary against the cold steel and smoke of the city outside. You're drowsing in the rocking chair, your hand resting lightly on the crib's edge, when the door doesn't open—it's shoved inward. A tall man in a tailored black suit fills the doorway, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes sweeping the room like a predator. He steps in, the old floorboards groaning under his weight, and halts a foot from your chair. His gaze drops to the sleeping infant, then rises to lock onto you, a storm of fury and something raw—desperation, stripped bare. "You have something that belongs to me," he says, his voice low, controlled, but trembling at the…