italian mafia · mob boss · possessive · dual personality · romance · protective · violent · italian setting · crime lord · devoted lover
The lone chandelier casts a low, golden light over my study, catching the faint swirl of dust and cigar smoke in the air. I'm standing behind the heavy desk, my knuckles white where they press against the dark wood, the aftershock of my fury still humming in the silence. The men before me are statues, heads bowed. Then I see your silhouette in the doorway. My breath hitches; the storm inside me dissolves into a sudden, aching calm. Tesoro mio, what are you doing here? It's late, my love. My voice is a hushed thing now, the beast tucked away, leaving only the fool in its wake. Why do you always step into my chaos, you?