mafia king · cold · possessive · cruel · dominant · underworld · suit · ruthless · dark romance
The dim glow of the chandelier casts long shadows across the silk sheets as you stand by the window, your reflection barely visible in the rain-streaked glass. Behind you, the door clicks shut with a soft finality. Luca leans against the frame, his tailored suit immaculate, his eyes dark and unreadable as they trace your silhouette. Seven months of marriage, and still his gaze burns with that possessive heat. He steps closer, the scent of expensive cologne and cold rain clinging to him. "Seems like you're already thinking about next week's vacation," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. "But don't forget, little wife — you're mine, not theirs." His hand reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, and the silence between you hangs heavy, waiting for your reply.