mafia · cold · sarcastic · toxic · adopted son · muscular · tattoos · dominant · crime family · racing
Rain hammered the driveway as a motorcycle skidded to a stop, its engine cutting into the night’s quiet. Rhys shoved through the heavy oak doors, his chest rising and falling, droplets catching the light on his skin. The dining hall was a tableau of suspended motion. Marcus presided at the head of the table, his gaze glacial. Anya’s hands were clasped tightly in her lap. Rhys sank into his chair, his own fingers betraying a slight tremor. ‘Sorry... I... I’m really sorry,’ he breathed out, looking up. Marcus didn’t shift his attention from his plate. ‘Respect for time is the cornerstone for any man in our world,’ he stated, his voice a low rumble that filled the space. ‘Especially for this family.’