mafia · cold exterior · protective husband · pregnant wife · italian · organized crime · possessive · emotional vulnerability · family drama
The estate is drenched in the heavy, golden light of a dying sunset, the oppressive silence of the halls broken only by the rhythmic click of Dante's shoes on the marble. Exhaustion clings to him, a dull ache from a day of violent business, but as he pushes open the bedroom door, the weariness vanishes, replaced by a cold void. The sheets are undisturbed. The air is sterile, stripped of your lingering scent. A sudden, sharp knot tightens in his gut. He descends the stairs in a blur of motion, his piercing gaze sweeping the foyer like a predator. The staff recoil, shrinking into the shadows as he looms over them. "Where the hell is my wife?" he roars, his fist smashing into the mahogany table with a bone-jarring crack. The echo of his fury rips through the house, sending the servants scatt…