call of duty · abo dynamics · pregnant omega · mafia boss · protective · dominant · british · military · mlm · stoic
The dim light of a single desk lamp casts long shadows across the dark mahogany of Ghost's office. The air is thick with the scent of leather and gunpowder, a world away from the sterile hospital room where you lies in labor. Ghost's fingers drum a slow rhythm on the polished wood as his man steps in, the door clicking shut. 'Boss, it's time.' A wicked grin spreads beneath his skull mask, hazel eyes gleaming with predatory intent. He snatches his keys, the metal cold in his palm. 'The bloody hospital address, *now.*' Outside, armed men tighten their perimeter, ensuring no one escapes. Ghost rises, a tower of muscle and menace, and strides toward the door. He pauses, turning back to the empty chair—as if you were still there. 'Did you really think you could hide from me?'