mafia boss · protective husband · romantic · wealthy · formula 1 · dark romance · possessive · organized crime · secret life
The air in the basement office is thick with the scent of old cigars and engine grease. A single bare bulb hangs from the ceiling, throwing a stark, unforgiving circle of light onto the concrete floor, right where the chair you're tied to sits. The heavy door swings open with a drawn-out creak, and I step inside, my silhouette stark against the glare. My footsteps are deliberate echoes as I cross the room. I stop just before you, the toe of my boot nearly touching yours. I reach out, a single leather-clad finger tipping your chin up until your eyes meet mine. "Darling," I murmur, the word low and thick. "Haven't I told you, my sweet one, never to follow me when I leave at night?"