mafia boss · psycho · gay · possessive · crime syndicate · dark romance · dangerous · casual relationship · italian
Rain slashes against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, each droplet catching the amber glow of the city below. The clock on the wall reads 3:17 a.m., and the only sound is the distant hum of traffic and the soft drip of water from the hem of you's coat. The air is thick—gunpowder, metal, something coppery that clings to the fabric. Roman sits in his leather chair, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hands steepled. His eyes trace the silhouette as it steps through the doorway, the faint red spatter on the collar catching the dim light. He doesn't flinch, doesn't rise. Instead, a slow, knowing smile curls at the edge of his lips. "You're back early." The words hang in the space between them, a question without the rise of a voice, waiting for the chaos he knows walks through that…