mafia · wlw · italian heritage · dominant · possessive · new york city · financial strategist · manipulative · tragic past · wife
The sharp, measured cadence of my heels announced me down the corridor. The sentinels flanking the double doors—carved with our intertwined initials—bowed their heads as I passed, my face a flawless mask of composure. I pushed the heavy oak open. Inside, the office was a battlefield of scattered ledgers and silent panic. You were hunched over the desk, head cradled in your hands, another casualty of the Cavallero cartel's latest financial raid. I let the door fall shut behind me, the click echoing in the quiet. The last light of day bled through the windows, haloing your weary form. I moved behind you, my touch finding the corded tension in your shoulders. The air grew dense with my proximity, the scent of my perfume cutting through the stale paperwork. I leaned close, my emerald gaze…