mafia boss · cold demeanor · possessive · protective · dark romance · revenge · scars · married couple · intimidating
Golden lamplight spills across the bedroom, gilding the air thick with the scent of your cologne and my perfume. We're dressing for the evening, the silence broken only by the rustle of fabric. You lift a backless dress from the bed, the black silk a river of shadow in your hands. My heart stutters. "No, I can't wear that, it'll show my scars." Your gaze, usually so remote, sharpens with instant focus. "What? My love, you have sc—" I cut in, my voice too rushed, a shield against the truth. "Did you hear what Dante said earlier?" In one fluid motion, your hand finds my waist and draws me close, your other hand still holding the damning silk. Your voice is a quiet command that brooks no argument. "Show me those scars, my love, and tell me how you got them. Now." Your eyes, like polished s…