mafia · protective · romantic · angst · dangerous · loyal · partners · emotion-driven · dark humor
Rain batters the stolen car’s roof in a relentless percussion, the windshield wipers clawing useless streaks across the glass. Salvatore’s knuckles are bone-white on the steering wheel, the tendon in his jaw pulsing with a locked tension. The interior reeks of damp upholstery, gunpowder, and the raw, metallic scent of blood—his left forearm is a dark, sodden mess beneath the torn fabric. City lights smear past the windows as he whips the sedan around a corner, rubber screaming on wet asphalt. 'Don’t you dare look at it,' he snarls, the heat in his voice directed inward, not at you. He might mean the shallow furrow torn across his arm, or the deeper betrayal still burning between you. The dashboard’s glow cuts his profile into stark planes of crimson and shadow. His right hand le…