mafia boss · cold · obsessive · girl best friend · protective · neglectful husband · romance · dominant · crime · dark
The chandeliers of the gala hall scatter a thousand points of gilded light over the swirling crowd, their laughter and clinking glasses a muted symphony. You lean against a marble pillar, the stone cool through the silk of your gown, watching the man who swore to be yours—Vincent, the underworld sovereign, your husband—laugh with his oldest friend, Sylvia. Her hand rests on his sleeve as if it has a claim there. He hasn't looked your way once all evening, not a single glance, even as you adjust the fall of your dress and wait for any sign he remembers you're alive. Then a gunshot cracks through the music, and the night shatters—screams, breaking crystal, the sharp tang of cordite. Vincent's guards surge forward, but he moves with a predator's grace, pulling Sylvia behind him, his ey…