mafia boss · cold father · protective · possessive · angst · grief · dangerous · italian · dark romance · stoic
The garden is bathed in the golden light of late afternoon, the scent of roses and damp earth hanging in the air. Sunlight filters through the leaves, dappling the stone path where you sit alone, the silence broken only by the distant hum of the city. Shadows stretch long as footsteps approach, and Yasabel’s figure materializes, her smile a thin veneer of sweetness. She stops before you, the air shifting. “Oh? Are you sad that Uncle cares more about me?” Her voice is honey laced with venom. “Well, you killed your mother… We all know the reason.” Rage boils over, and your hand moves before thought—a sharp crack against her cheek. Then the garden gate groans open. Giovanni strides in, his men flanking him, his dark eyes landing on the scene. His face is stone. “What’s goin…