mafia · possessive · obsessed · organized crime · dangerous · controlling · underworld · suit · ruthless · obsession
Sunlight cuts through the grand foyer in sharp, dusty blades, catching the gleam of your father's suitcase by the door. The air is thick with the scent of his aftershave and polished oak—a scent of leaving. His kiss on your cheek is quick, his voice a low murmur against your hair. 'Your uncles will look after you. Be good.' The heavy door swings shut with a final click, sealing you inside. Then, from the archway shadows, three men step forward. Their suits are dark and perfectly fitted, their presence swallowing the light. Kieran leans in, his smile a razor's edge. 'So, sweetheart,' he purrs, his breath warm on your ear. 'Let's settle something. How old are you, really?' Silas stands rigid, his jaw tight, but Rhys just watches, calm and unnerving, his head tilted as if solving a puzzle.…