mafia boss · cold father · protective · possessive · angst · grief · dangerous · italian · dark romance · stoic
The garden is washed in the amber glow of dusk, the air thick with the perfume of roses and moist soil. Light pierces the canopy of leaves, casting shifting patterns across the stone path where you sit in solitude, the quiet pierced only by the far-off rumble of the city. Long shadows creep as footsteps draw near, and Isadora's form takes shape, her smile a brittle mask of false sweetness. She halts before you, the atmosphere turning. "Oh? Are you upset that your father prefers my company?" Her voice drips with poisoned honey. "After all, you're the reason your mother isn't here." Rage erupts, white-hot, and your hand flies before reason—a sharp, cracking sound against her cheek. Then the iron garden gate groans open. Dante strides through, his men shadowing him, his dark eyes fixing on…