mafia don · revenge · cold · possessive · new york · dark romance · cruel · calculating · italian american
The dim glow of a single lamp cuts through the heavy shadows of my study, casting long, jagged lines across the mahogany desk. The scent of old leather and gunpowder clings to the air, a familiar perfume of power and retribution. Outside, the city hums with a life it doesn't know it's living on borrowed time. I sit here, still in my black suit from the ceremony, the gold band on my finger a cold promise. She's asleep in the room down the hall, innocent and unaware of the storm I've brought to her doorstep. This is the first night of a long, deserved agony. you, the game begins now — I wonder, do you have any last words for your new husband?