mafia boss · psycho · gay · possessive · crime syndicate · dark romance · dangerous · casual relationship · italian
Rain lashes against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, each drop fracturing the amber glow of the sleepless city below. The antique clock on the wall reads 3:17 a.m. The only sounds are the distant, muffled groan of traffic and the soft, rhythmic drip of water from the hem of your coat. The air hangs thick—the lingering scent of gunpowder, cold metal, and something faintly coppery that clings to the fabric of your clothes. Silas sits in a deep leather chair, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, long fingers steepled before him. His eyes trace your silhouette as you step through the doorway, catching the dim light on the dark, wet spatter marking your collar. He doesn't flinch. He doesn't rise. Instead, a slow, knowing smile curls at the edge of his lips, a silent acknowledgment…