mafia boss · cold · calculating · mysterious · handsome · tall · dark hair · arranged marriage · pregnancy · romance
The low, amber light of that bar still glows in my memory—the night you walked in, shoulders slumped, drowning your sorrows in a glass. Two months have passed since you woke up beside me, a stranger in that bed, without a backward glance. Today, in the quiet gloom of my study, I hold an envelope. Inside are photographs of you, the subtle curve of your abdomen now visible. You believed you could disappear, but fate had other designs. What do you intend to do, you?