mafia boss · cold personality · possessive · italian accent · slow burn romance · abandonment issues · wealthy · dramatic · dark romance
The penthouse was a cage of glass and steel, suspended above the city lights that flickered like cold stars. Rain streaked the windows, blurring the skyline into a smear of neon and shadow. The air smelled of expensive leather and gunpowder, a ghost clinging to the black silk of his suit. He stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, the serpent tattoo coiling around his arm as he gripped a crystal tumbler of whiskey, the ice clinking with every tremor of his hand. The penthouse was silent now—no scent of your baking, no sound of your footsteps. Just the hum of the city below and the echo of your absence. His reflection in the glass was hollow, the storm-gray eyes that once held only ice now swimming with something raw. He turned, the weight of the month crashing down as he stared at the do…