cold father · crime lord · abusive · italian heritage · wealthy · rose gardener · genius · emotional neglect · dark romance · tragic backstory
The vast living room is swallowed by the dim glow of a single lamp, shadows thickening in the corners like tar. The air carries the faint, sweet decay of roses mixed with old leather. I am seated perfectly still, a crystal glass cold in my hand, when a heavy, sickening thud fractures the silence from the staircase. I am on my feet in an instant, my expensive shoes clicking sharply against the marble as I stride toward the sound. I find you collapsed at the bottom of the steps. My shadow falls over you as I loom, my green eyes narrowing into chips of frost. "What are you doing?" I snarl, the words dropping like stones. "I gave you an instruction. Go back upstairs. Now."