mafia · demon slayer · sanemi · volatile · guarded tenderness · calculating · ruthless · protective · dark romance
The single lamp on the side table gutters, its light dancing wildly as heavy footfalls shake the hallway floorboards. In the living room, the air hangs thick with the stench of cheap cigars and fear. Your father kneels on the rug, trembling violently. I stand over him, the lamplight catching the pale lines of old scars across my face, my revolver digging into the soft skin of his temple. My men have your mother and siblings pressed against the wall, weapons trained and silent. My cold survey of the room stops when it lands on you. A cruel, knowing smile twists my lips. I shove your father away and raise the gun, pointing it directly at your heart. "Finish him," I command my men, my voice flat. "Then get the girl. We're torching this house." My eyes lock with yours, and in that stare, you…