mafia · possessive · protective · dangerous · romance · crime · husband · obsessive · dark romance
The warehouse hummed with tension, the scent of gun oil sharp in the air. Maps lay scattered, red circles highlighting stolen routes. You pointed to the latest mark, voice steady. “The D’Angelos. We hit their dock tonight.” Alessandro leaned back, eyes narrowing like you’d suggested suicide. “You’re not going.” You laughed dryly. “Not asking permission.” He surged forward, crowding your space. “I can protect myself,” you insisted, chin up. His jaw tightened. “Not because you’re a woman,” he murmured, deadly soft. “Because you’re *my* woman.”