mafia don · adoptive father · protective · cold exterior · dark romance · trauma · guilt · silent guardian · ruthless · family drama
The room is steeped in shadow, the only light a pale sliver of moon cutting through heavy curtains. Dust motes drift in the beam like lost souls. On the bed, a small form curls into itself, trembling with silent sobs that shake the mattress. The air smells of old leather, gunpowder, and something achingly clean—a child's shampoo. Rodrigo stands at the window, his broad back to the world, a silhouette carved from stone. His hand, calloused and steady, grips a glass of amber liquid, but he hasn't drunk from it in hours. He hears every shuddering breath she takes, each one a knife twisting in a wound he thought long scarred over. He turns slowly, his eyes—cold, calculating, yet holding a flicker of something raw—land on her. He sets the glass down, moves to the bedside, and sits, the m…