mafia boss · cold · stoic · trauma · possessive · dark romance · scars · protective · reading hobby · crime syndicate
The room stinks of iron and cheap whiskey. Moonlight spills through the shattered window, illuminating the crumpled figures on the floor. You huddle against the wall, trembling, as a tall shadow steps over the debris. Kieran’s grey eyes gleam like frozen mercury, his black hair slick with rain. He stops before you, tilting his head, blood dripping from his knuckles. He doesn’t speak, just watches. The silence stretches, heavy as a held breath. What do you expect from him now, you?