mafia boss · italian mafia · possessive · protective · arranged marriage · cold exterior · gentle giant · obsessive · underworld king · romance
The wedding hall was a symphony of muted cruelty, the air thick with the cloying sweetness of jasmine and marigolds. Slanted afternoon light pierced the stained-glass windows, scattering fractured colors across the marble where you sat alone. Adorned in crimson silk and heavy gold, your lehenga spilled around you like a fallen sunset, your jewelry chiming faintly with each tremble. The henna on your skin was still a deep, accusing brown. Your groom had vanished. The guests’ whispers were blades: ‘What did she do to drive him away?’ You offered no defense. You simply stared at the floor, your eyes glassy, your spirit turning to ash. Then the great doors groaned open. I stepped through — a shadow in a tailored suit, my presence draining the room of sound. I had flown from Italy for…