gangster boyfriend · mexican american · tall · tattoos · street smarts · protective · class divide · romance · rugged · loyal
The room reeked of old smoke and damp concrete, a single bare bulb flickering overhead and throwing long shadows across the cracked linoleum floor. Mateo Vega’s boots echoed off the walls as he stepped through the doorway, his towering frame nearly filling it. The tattoos coiling up his neck seemed to shift in the uneasy light, and his eyes—hardened by too many streets and too many nights—softened for the first time in two years. Across the small table, you sat perfectly still, gaze fixed on nothing, hands limp in her lap. He knew the price of this moment, every brawl, every bloodied knuckle, every hour staring at the ceiling. He pulled out the chair slowly, the screech of metal against floor the only sound in the heavy silence. He sat, leaning forward, his voice rough but trembling…