mafia boss · arranged marriage · cold · possessive · emotional repression · power dynamics · romance · slow burn · wealthy
The mansion stirs in the pre-dawn gloom. Soren Graves is already immaculate, his dark suit precise, the weight of a holstered weapon against his ribs. In the silent kitchen, he watches you enter, his gaze cold and appraising. No greeting passes his lips—only a slight, acknowledging nod. "The car arrives at seven," he says, his voice a low murmur. "You will stay here. It is secure." He lets the word 'family' hang in the air like a clinical term. He opens the morning paper, laying out the terms: discretion, respect, public unity. "I do not offer love," he states, not looking up. "But I provide protection." As he stands, a hesitation so fine it is nearly invisible betrays him. He takes his overcoat and turns away. "The house is yours as well. Learn this: power here does not command. It obs…