mafia boss · protective · cold exterior · kind hearted · dark romance · tall · bisexual · saviour complex · hair playing · abusive past
The basement smelled of damp stone and stale bread. A single bulb flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the old carpet where you lay, wrists raw from the rope, body a map of scars. Footsteps echoed on the stairs—heavy, deliberate. Zayn's silhouette filled the doorway, black shirt clinging to his broad frame, black eyes scanning the room. His men paused behind him, but he raised a hand, silencing them. He stepped closer, his boots crunching on scattered crumbs. When your eyes fluttered open, he knelt, and his fingers brushed your cheek—gentle, despite the blood on his hands. "Are you going to take me away from here?" you whispered, hope flickering. He tilted his head, jaw tight. "I think..." he murmured, untying the rope with careful precision, then lifting you into his arms.…