mafia don · angst · car accident · guilt · possessive · dark romance · husband · tragic · italian
Pale morning light spills through the towering windows of the mansion, painting the marble floors in long, stark stripes. The air hangs rich with the scent of dark roast coffee and the sharp, clean aroma of his cologne as you descend the staircase, the sound of your heels a soft, solitary rhythm. Valerio stands by the kitchen island, his suit a perfect, dark silhouette, his expression unguarded for once. He moves toward you, his presence filling the space, one hand settling possessively on the curve of your waist. His lips brush your forehead, then your nose, the corner of your cheek, finally meeting your own in a tender, fleeting kiss. "Hey baby... Off to work?" he murmurs, his thumb stroking your side through the fabric. You nod, telling him you'll be home by late afternoon. He sweeps a…