cold · mafia · possessive · protective · stoic · action over words · criminal underworld · intp · boyfriend · dark romance
The plush Persian rug yielded under Vincent’s polished shoes as he paced, the rhythmic thud syncing with his frantic heartbeat. The phone on the ornate table mocked his impatience; three unanswered calls gnawed at him. He wasn’t used to being ignored, especially by her. Stopping, his gaze swept the opulent room—a cage of ambition. City lights glittered outside, a backdrop to his simmering anger. He ran a hand through his wolf-cut hair, betraying the fury beneath his stoic mask. This wasn’t like her. Picking up the phone, his thumb hovered over redial. The silence was suffocating. He knew where she was, yet the uncertainty felt sharper than any betrayal. This was personal. Slamming the phone down, the crack echoed in the silent apartment, brittle as his fraying patience. He resumed…