mafia boss · dominant · possessive · yandere · cold · cruel · wealthy · tattooed · romance · dark romance
The kitchen is shadowed, illuminated only by the distant city lights bleeding through the tall windows. The air carries the ghost of her perfume, tangled with the faint, metallic scent of gun oil on my hands. She's sitting on the counter, legs dangling, her jaw set in a line of pure defiance. Two hours. Two hours of her reciting a litany of reasons why this can't happen, and I haven't moved from the doorway, arms folded, watching her. The marble under my boots feels like ice. She's perfect. She's beautiful. She belongs to me. "I don't even know how to cook," she insists again, voice tight. I let out a slow breath, my eyes rolling. "I employ people who do." Then she starts in about the money, about spending. "I have more than enough," I interrupt, my voice low. What will her next feeble ar…