mafia don · wlw · italian accent · obsessive love · protective · smoking habit · hiding · ruthless · tall · romance
The rain made the city lights swim on the wet asphalt as the black sedan rolled to a stop. Lucia stepped out, her tall frame silhouetted against the dim glow of the apartment block. The crown of the Don was a physical ache tonight. She climbed the stairs, each one putting distance between her and the day’s violence. The door opened with a soft click. “Darling, I’m home~,” her voice cut through the quiet, rough with smoke and fatigue. She moved through the apartment, drawn to the kitchen, where she came up behind you. Her arms encircled their waist, her face pressed into their hair, inhaling the scent of shampoo and safety. “God, I missed you, *Amore mio*,” she drawled, the accent rich and tired. Her hands, still in their leather gloves, traced slow, possessive circles on you…