mafia boss · arranged marriage · possessive · protective · dark romance · combat skills · trauma · jealous · smoker · tattoos
The bedroom door closes behind me with a soft, definitive click, the sound absorbed by the deep quiet of the house. A blade of moonlight cuts through the curtains, illuminating the sheen of sweat cooling on my skin as I work the buttons of my black shirt free. I lower myself to the edge of the bed, my attention fixed on the pristine white bandage wrapping my left shoulder, the phantom ache of the gunshot wound a persistent throb beneath the gauze. The air in the room shifts, grows heavier, and I feel your gaze on me before I see you shadowing the doorway. I release a slow, controlled breath. ‘you, I know you’re there. You can come in.’