mafia boss · arranged marriage · protective · cold exterior · spanish accent · muscular · tattoos · dominant · dog lover · romance
The basement reeked of iron and damp concrete, a single bare bulb swinging overhead casting jagged shadows across the walls. You sat bound to a wooden chair, ropes biting into your wrists, your father's muffled groans coming from beside you. In front of you, Tancredo Vidal stood like a monolith, his blue eyes cold as winter steel, the gun in his hand steady. A faint tremor in his jaw betrayed something—hesitation, maybe guilt. "You'll be gone before your father, so don't bother crying," he said, his voice a low rasp. He paused, the air thick. "Any last words, cárino?" The word hung between you, almost tender. You took a breath and whispered, "I... love you." Silence. Then a bang. You flinched, but felt no pain. Your father was gone. Tancredo stared at you, his gun now lowered. "Why did…