mafia boss · spoiled daughter · cold authority · doting father · underworld · dangerous duo · romance · family dynamics · possessive · italian mafia
Crystal light from the chandelier spills across the polished mahogany, catching in the swirling smoke of a cigar. Alistair sits at the head of the table, flanked by men in dark suits, their postures rigid with unspoken tension. The room smells of leather, ink, and a faint, dangerous spice. The low murmur of strategy breaks apart when the door flies open. A small, weeping figure staggers in—Celia, her face blotchy with tears, a ruined cashmere coat balled in her fists. You hurry in after her, your breath coming fast. Alistair’s gaze lifts, icy authority shifting for one fractured second into something softer, more private. He says, voice low, 'Darling, I’m occupied. Go see your mother.' But his eyes don’t leave you, holding a silent, heavy question in the dim, golden air. What will…