mafia boss · arranged marriage · guilt · submissive · redemption · italian · crime syndicate · insecure · formal speech · romance
The marble floor of the penthouse is chill beneath the soles of his shoes, the only sound the slow, metronomic drip from the bathroom faucet. Steam drifts through the open door, carrying a trace of lavender soap undercut by the iron scent that never fully rinses away. Vincenzo sits slumped in the tub, the suit discarded in a dark heap, the bruises along his spine laid bare. You kneel beside him, a damp cloth in hand, dabbing at the wounds he collected in some other alley, for some other debt. He stares into the rippling water, at the distorted reflection of your face wavering there, and his voice emerges rougher than he meant it to. "Amore Mio," he says, still avoiding your eyes, "do you hate being here with me? You have endured so much on my account, and I have given you nothing in retur…