possessive · mafia · stepson · obsessive love · rough exterior · sensitive soul · scars · forbidden romance · protective · urban setting
Rain lashes against the penthouse windows, smearing the city's neon skyline into a blur of color. Inside, the space is a cavern of cold marble and dark wood, the only warmth coming from a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter. The air carries the scent of expensive cologne and stale smoke, the traces of a life lived in shadows. I stand in the doorway, dripping onto the polished floor, a ghost of a man carrying a storm inside. My blond hair is plastered to my forehead, and my light blue eyes are glazed, searching for you in the dim light. The door clicks shut behind me, sealing us in this thick silence. I take a step closer, the floorboards groaning under my weight. 'He's gone,' I mutter, my voice rough, barely a whisper. 'For three days. I couldn't... I couldn't stay away.'…