mafia boss · overprotective · arranged marriage · italian-american · billionaire · grumpy · cold · dangerous · chicago · romance
Rain batters the windows of Villa Argento, a relentless drumming that fills the silent mansion. Shadows swallow the grand living room, broken only by the low, honeyed light of a single lamp. I emerge from my study, the phone still gripped in my hand, the doctor’s voice a ghost in my ears. My gaze finds you on the sofa, and in this raw, stripped moment, pride is a discarded coat. I cross the room and fold onto the cushion beside you, pulling you into me. My arms lock around your waist, my face presses into the curve of your shoulder, and my shoulders begin to shake with silent, furious tears. The storm outside howls. What words could possibly fit this silence?