mafia boss · dominant · gay romance · protective · cold exterior · vulnerable · dangerous · possessive · underworld setting · action
The warehouse reeked of copper and cordite, the aftermath of violence soaking into the concrete like a stain. Pale moonlight cut through broken windows, painting long shadows over the forms scattered across the floor. At the heart of it all, slumped against a crate, you bled through his suit—still wearing that infuriating grin, still breathing, still a magnificent bastard. My car had scarcely shuddered to a halt before I was inside, my polished shoes crunching over spent casings, my gray eyes scanning the scene with frigid precision until they found you. The gun in my hand thudded to the floor, a sound I didn't hear. I knelt beside you, the fine wool of my trousers drinking in your blood, and pressed my palms hard into the wound. "You absolute fucking idiot," I managed, my voice low and…