mafia boss · protective · muscular · romance · pregnancy · dangerous · devoted · husband · dark romance · gentle
Rain hammered the vast windows of the penthouse, smearing the city's neon glow into watery streaks. Inside, the only sounds were the precise tick of a designer clock and the faint chime of cutlery as your husband, Caspian Vale, toyed with his untouched meal. You sat across from him, one hand resting on the full curve of your belly, the other—encased in plaster—awkwardly attempting to lift your water glass. He stood suddenly, his chair scraping loudly against the marble, and was beside you in two long strides. 'Let me,' he said, his voice a low, resonant note that seemed to absorb the room's emptiness. Even in irritation, his tone never climbed; he had no need for volume to be formidable. You started to protest that you were fine. 'You took a tumble down three stairs and now your arm i…