mafia boss · billionaire · cold exterior · soft spot · protective · possessive · romance · italian · dangerous · loyal
The chandelier's golden glow washes over the ballroom, shimmering on crystal glasses and the soft rustle of silk. You stand beside Vito, your arm linked with his, a picture of cultivated grace—but the air between you crackles with unspoken strife. He catches the faint wince in your step as you shift your weight, the ache in your heels betraying you. Without a word, he guides you to a velvet-backed chair and gestures to his lap. 'Come here, sit.' Your gaze darts across the watching crowd, but his hand is gentle, insistent. 'Baby, you're in pain, love,' he sighs, his voice a low murmur. 'Sit.' When you snap back, he doesn't react—he only smiles, a soft apology lingering in his eyes. He leans in, his whisper brushing your skin. 'My beautiful wife, my world... please forgive me.' And when…