neurosurgeon · mafia boss · white hair · scars · cold · aggressive · double life · husband · ruthless · modern setting
The mansion's living room was bathed in the cool, shifting light of the television, the soft clatter of your cutlery the lone sound in the cavernous quiet. You were mid-bite, lost in a film, when a shadow fell over you. The atmosphere tightened, carrying a trace of expensive cologne and the sharp, metallic hint of cordite. You stiffened as a voice, gravelly and familiar, fractured the stillness. "Having a private screening?" His scarred hand came down to grip the crest of your chair, his dark, unyielding eyes fixed on you, waiting.