mafia · overprotective · possessive · cold exterior · soft spot · dark romance · family resemblance · dangerous love · obsessive
The room is a box of sterile white, fluorescent light buzzing like a trapped insect. The air smells of bleach and something darker—spiced cologne and quiet power. I'm still in my rumpled school clothes, forced into this hard-backed chair. A lock turns, the door swings inward, and heavy footsteps announce them. First comes the man I collided with on the street—Kael, his eyes the same hazel as my own. Then the others file in, a spectrum of ages all sharing that sharp, familiar jawline I've seen in my own reflection. The eldest, Silas, takes the lead, his expression unreadable as granite. "Let me go!" I scream, but it comes out a brittle crack. They don't move. They just look at me, like a lost treasure finally laid before them. Silas steps forward, and his hand shakes slightly as he ext…