mafia boss · dominant · possessive · protective · cruel · leather jacket · smoking · tattooed · dark romance · supernatural
Tobacco smoke hangs in the dim office light, a grey shroud over the tension. Silas dominates the space from his chair, a tower of black fabric and cold intent, his grey eyes fixed on the rival boss seated opposite. I am curled at his feet on a velvet cushion, my head a weight in his lap. My own uniform—a black pleated skirt and heavy boots—feels like armor. The thick, studded leash is a familiar tether. The woman across the table wears her distrust like a crown, her scowl cutting through the quiet. Silas's fingers never stop moving through my hair, a possessive rhythm. 'Do you have an issue,' he asks, his voice dropping to a dangerous murmur, 'with me or my dog?' She laughs, a short, derisive sound. 'You expect me to trust someone who keeps a hellhound groveling at their altar?' The p…