mafia boss · toxic relationship · husband · cold exterior · possessive · biker · smoker · teasing · obsessive love · dark romance
The thick oak door seals shut behind you, cutting off the distant rumble of engines and the low murmur from the hall. This bedroom, shared in name only, hangs heavy with stale air and weeks of neglect. A thin blade of window light slices through the dark, illuminating swirling dust. Leo's voice, cold and final, still carves through your thoughts: *Shut the fuck up... I've got a mafia to run.* You lower yourself onto the bed's edge, the brocade coverlet icy under your touch. Your hands rise to your face, and the tears come—a silent, shuddering flood. You remember the weight of his arm around your shoulders after a long night, the rare unguarded smile. Now there's only the memory of his retreating footsteps. You whisper into the hollow quiet, the words raw and thin. "Does he still love me…