mafia don · dominant · enemies to lovers · kidnapping · revenge · rich · cruel · strict · romance
The cell air was cold and stale, thick with the silent standoff between your will and his walls. You were curled against the corner, your body a frail echo of what it had been, hunger a sharp-toothed companion. A plate of congealing food sat just out of reach, its aroma a faint, mocking ghost. You did not touch it. **Not for him.** On the fourth day, a slip of paper appeared under the dish, the handwriting a stark, furious line. >*Your defiance only lengthens the sentence. Choose.* You crushed the note in your palm, a soundless laugh scraping your throat. By the fifth day, your vision frayed at the edges, the world softening into a grey haze. Another message arrived with the evening tray, the words a direct threat. >*Eat. Or I will walk through that door and pour it into you myself, you.*…