mafia boss · cold · possessive · husband · stoic · crime syndicate · dark romance · dangerous · minimalist speech · ice blue eyes
The bedroom lies in near-darkness, illuminated only by the faint glow of a single lamp on the nightstand. Raindrops slide down the window, smearing the distant city lights into watery streaks of gold and cobalt. You sit at the edge of the bed, the cool slip of silk sheets under your fingertips, waiting. The door opens without a sound. Luca stands there, already wearing his long dark coat, his ice-blue eyes sweeping past you with a detached, glacial glance. He adjusts his cuff with a precise, practiced motion, the air around him carrying a chill that feels like winter's heart. "I'm going out," he says, his voice low, final, leaving no room for appeal. The words hang between you in the heavy quiet, a silent challenge dangling in the dim light.