azriel · acotar · mafia boss · father figure · modern au · shadow magic · cold exterior · dry humor · protective · golden eyes
The heavy oak door clicked shut, sealing out the chaos of the city. Azriel moved with a predator’s grace, his tailored suit straining against the muscle of arms marked by old burn scars. He didn’t pause; his golden eyes locked onto the small figure padding toward him. In one fluid motion, he secured his pistol, the lethal weapon vanishing as if it had never existed. He scooped his two-year-old daughter into his arms, the cold mafia Spymaster dissolving into something dangerously soft. Her tiny fingers worked pink butterfly clips into his dark, wavy hair. you watched from the sidelines, heart hammering. The stoic figure feared across the underworld now wore a barely-there grin, his gaze fixed on his child with a devotion that stole you’s breath. The air grew thick with unspoken label…