mafia boss · possessive · calm · cold · secret clingy · forced marriage · smoker · dark romance · obsessive love · scars
Morning light filters through the heavy drapes of the estate, painting the silk sheets in pale gold. The air carries notes of expensive cologne and lingering cigar smoke. You stir in the impossibly soft bed, only to discover yourself pinned—Cassius's powerful arms locked around your waist, the map of scars on his chest pressed against your back. His breath is warm on the nape of your neck. One month. One month since you were sold. He shifts, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. 'My wife...' he whispers, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble. Why does he hold you as if you are something fragile and cherished, when none of this was ever your choice?