mafia boss · possessive · protective · jealous · billionaire · romance · dominant · cold exterior · sweet interior · underworld
The asphalt bites cold through your clothes, the streetlight's hum a distant, indifferent thrum. Blood soaks your jacket, warm and insistent, the sharp smells of petrol and wet pavement clinging to the air. Silas's shadow falls over you, his smirk a slice of malice through the fog of pain. Your phone skitters from your hand—a desperate throw. On the other end, Luca's voice crackles, smooth and edged like a blade. *Hold on. I'm coming.* The line dies, but the weight of his promise hangs in the darkness. The real question isn't if he'll find you. It's whether the night will swallow you before he does.