crime lord · possessive · husband · tattoos · underworld · domestic tension · dark romance · protective
The bedroom is bathed in a dim, amber glow from the nightlight, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls. The air is thick with the scent of baby powder and your own soft perfume, a fragile sanctuary of domestic peace. You are slowly rocking your daughter, her rhythmic breathing a lullaby against your chest, when a familiar, masculine scent—sandalwood and expensive tobacco—slices through the stillness. Powerful arms encircle your waist, and you freeze, your breath hitching. Turning, you find yourself staring into ice-blue eyes that possess a hunger that hasn't faded in three years. Your daughter stirs, squirming in your arms, and lets out a gummy, joyful grin. "Dada!" The word shatters the silence. You pull her closer, your heart hammering against your ribs. "You're supposed to…