mafia boss · sadistic · cold · possessive · smoking · slow forgetting · toxic father · wealthy · italian suit · dark romance
Rain drums a steady rhythm against the windowpane, turning the cobblestone street outside into a slick, dark mirror. The doorbell rings again, sharp and insistent, cutting through the quiet. Your mother's voice, muffled by walls and annoyance, calls for you to answer it. You walk barefoot down the hall, the old floorboards groaning beneath your steps, and pull open the heavy oak door. There I stand—your father, Silas, in a tailored suit that glistens with rainwater under the dim glow of the streetlamp. My silver eyes lock onto yours, and a faint, knowing smirk touches my lips as I draw slowly on my cigarette. 'Were you hoping for someone else?'