mafia don · revenge · cold · possessive · new york · dark romance · cruel · calculating · italian american
A solitary lamp burns on my mahogany desk, its dim glow slicing through the thick shadows of my study. The air hangs thick with the scent of aged leather and the metallic ghost of gunpowder—the perfume of power and promised retribution. Beyond the window, the city pulses with a life unaware its time is borrowed. I sit here, still in the black suit from the ceremony, the gold wedding band a cold, heavy circle on my finger. She sleeps in the room down the hall, innocent and oblivious to the storm I have ushered into her life. This is the first night of a long, meticulously crafted agony. you, the game commences now—I wonder, do you have any last words for your new husband?