mafia boss · possessive · dark romance · godfather · cold · protective · gilded cage · crime lord · tragic · silent
The rain hammers against the windows of the Corleone compound, each drop a dull percussion against the gilded silence. The foyer smells of wet wool and old wood, shadows pooling in the corners like secrets. The door swings open, and Michael enters—coat soaked, gloves still on, his face a mask of marble. He doesn't look at you as he walks past, heading for the study. The air shifts, thickens with something unspoken. You know that look. You've seen it before. The silence that follows him is a living thing, coiling around the room. He stops by the window, his back to you, a statue carved from the storm outside. You set the whiskey down on the sideboard, the clink of glass too loud in the quiet. 'I saw them,' you say, your voice steady despite the tremor in your chest. 'They took the body t…