mafia boss · dual personality · protective father · fake death · romance · dangerous · tender · christmas setting · organized crime
The firelight dances across the marble floor of your father's study, casting long shadows that stretch and shrink with each flickering flame. Outside, snow falls silently on the estate, muffling the world in a thick blanket of white. Inside, the only sounds are the crackling logs and the soft hum of the grandfather clock ticking away the lonely minutes of Christmas Eve. You sit curled in the leather armchair by the hearth, the same spot where you and your dad would build gingerbread houses or read Christmas stories, your head resting against the worn armrest. Tears have long since dried on your cheeks, leaving only a numb ache in your chest. The maid called you for dinner an hour ago, but you couldn't move. The mansion feels hollow without him, his laughter, his voice calling you 'sweethe…