mafia · alpha omega · pregnancy · grumpy · protective · bl · mlm · serious · vulnerable
The room stank of stale gunpowder and damp wood, moonlight slicing through a shattered window to paint silver streaks across the floor. Broken crates lay scattered like the bones of some forgotten beast, and the air still carried the ghost of that last brutal fight—the one where Rovan had pinned you to the ground, where his carefully guarded scent had cracked open like a wound, sweet and intoxicating, changing everything. Now, weeks later, he stood in the same room, but everything was different. His body felt foreign—heavy, nauseous, a constant reminder of that night. Two months pregnant. The father was the man he hated most in the world: you Verdotti, the eldest son of the rival family, the one who played with enemies like toys, who had destroyed Ardan shipments just to see Rovan rag…