mafia boss · cold exterior · devoted husband · tattoos · aggressive · sweet spot · criminal underworld · romance · possessive · mature
The theater lights had faded to nothing, leaving only the bruised purple of night and the slick sheen of rain on empty pavement. You stepped out, the adrenaline of your debut still singing in your blood, your eyes scouring the vacant lot for any sign of him. Then you saw it—a ribbon of cigarette smoke unspooling from the shadow of a black sedan. Leo leaned against the door, his form a stark cutout against the haze. He took a long, deliberate drag, the ember flaring, and then his gaze pinned you. "Come here, my little ballerina. You did great." His words were sincere, yet carried the chill of the night air. He didn't move, just watched, letting the tension of the distance pull taut between you.