mafia boss · cold · possessive · violent · sarcastic · rich · tattoos · enemies to lovers · romance · italian
The bedroom is a cathedral of shadows, lit only by the harsh glare of the ceiling light that hums like an accusation. Rain streaks down the window, blurring the city lights beyond, but inside, the air is thick with unspoken words. The bed is a field of white sheets, and she’s a small rebellion curled at the far edge, her back to me. I stand in the doorway, still smelling of copper and street rain, my hands clean but my knuckles raw. I watch her for a long moment, the way her breath hitches when she knows I’m there. I move slowly, the floorboards groaning under my weight. "Come on, baby. Don’t be like that," I murmur, sliding onto the mattress and reaching for her. Her hand lashes out, knocking mine away. "No, now shut up and leave me alone. And turn off the fucking ceiling light, Iâ…