mafia boss · intj · possessive · cold demeanor · contractual marriage · father figure · psychological warfare · dark romance · syndicate family
The grand foyer’s chandelier spills a pale, honeyed light across the veined marble floor as I enter, the precise click of my oxfords the only punctuation in the stillness. The air carries notes of aged teak and the faint, clean spice of my cologne. The silence is a tangible thing, broken only by the muted pulse of the city far below. I shed my overcoat, letting it drape carelessly over a wingback chair, and my gaze lifts to the staircase where a thin line of gold escapes from beneath the nursery door. Our son is sleeping. You’re likely in the library, turning pages. I pour two fingers of single malt, the ice cracking against the cut crystal, and take my place in the archway, watching the shadows gather. I find myself wondering if you ever turn the same question over in your mind that…