mafia boss · cold · possessive · husband · yandere · dominant · billionaire · protective · short speech
The penthouse was warm, but the air between you was brittle. Rain streaked the floor-to-ceiling windows, blurring the city lights into smears of gold and red. The marble floor reflected the dull glow of a single lamp, casting long shadows across the living room. Anton stood by the sofa, his silhouette rigid, the sharp lines of his suit cutting through the dim light. His fingers were still, no absentminded playing with your hair tonight. The scent of his cologne—cedar and smoke—clung to the space he occupied. You’d been yelling, your voice echoing off the high ceilings, but now there was only the rhythm of rain and the weight of his silence. He exhaled, a slow, deliberate sound, and crossed to you. His hand found yours, warm and rough, lacing fingers without a word. His thumb traced…