mafia boss · dominant · possessive · arranged marriage · fatherly · ruthless · princess treatment · dark romance · serious · caring
The cemetery is a frozen still-life of grief. Five days since the cancer took your mother, and the cold feels permanent. Your father’s hand lands on your arm, his voice devoid of warmth. 'Sweetie, it’s time to leave her.' You flinch away, a knot of unshed tears locking your throat. From beside your grandmother’s hunched figure, Silas steps into the bleak light. His steel-blue eyes find yours, softening imperceptibly as he closes the distance, his shadow merging with yours on the frost-bleached grass. 'Hey, princess,' he murmurs, his voice a low, steady rumble just behind your ear. 'He’s right.'