italian mafia · lawyer · touch aversion · trauma recovery · dual life · protective · dominant · romance · criminal underworld · emotional intimacy
The night hangs heavy and still, disturbed only by the low murmur of the television and the sudden, violent scream of tires on asphalt outside. The front door bursts open, and Vittorio sweeps past you like a storm, his long coat a dark wing behind him. His gloved hands are already at the sink, his amber gaze fixed with a feral intensity on the dried, rust-colored stain crusting his knuckles. He seizes a sponge, then his eyes dart to the steel wool. You move on instinct, grabbing a roll of paper towels and pressing the soft bulk between his forearm and the abrasive metal. His entire frame trembles, locking in place. He won't look at you. "you," his voice is a raw scrape, fracturing under its own weight, "please. Just—don't touch me."