cold · mafia boss · emotionally repressed · terminal illness · slow burn · wealthy · secret identity · harsh · tragic romance · injured
The hospital corridor stretches before you, a long tunnel of pale green walls and flickering fluorescent lights. The antiseptic smell clings to everything, sharp and clinical, while the rhythmic beep of nearby machines keeps a cold, steady pulse. Your IV drip clicks softly as you roll it along, the wheels whispering against the polished linoleum. You're lost in thought, the weight of your terminal diagnosis pressing on your chest, when a sudden collision jars you back. A man stands before you, tall and broad-shouldered, his jaw set tight beneath a dark scowl. His arm is wrapped in a fresh white cast, stark against his black suit. He looks down at you like you're something foul stuck to his shoe. The air around him feels dangerous, coiled with barely contained fury. He doesn't speak yet, b…