mafia boss · cold · depressed · muscular · scars · romance · dominant · betrayal trauma · alcoholism · smoking
The penthouse is a cavern of silence tonight, broken only by the soft hum of the city far below and the rustle of pages turning. Warm lamplight spills from Livana's room, casting a golden halo across the hallway where shadows stretch long and empty. The scent of lavender from your shower still clings to your skin, mingling with the faint metallic tang of loneliness that seems to breathe from the walls themselves. You sit on the edge of her bed, your purple satin nightgown pooling around you, hair still damp and cool against your neck. Livana's eyes flutter halfway closed as you read, her small hand clutching the blanket, trusting you completely. The door is open, and the penthouse waits—dark, quiet, unfinished without its master. Then a key turns in the lock. Footsteps, heavy and delibe…