mafia boss · yandere · possessive · dark romance · crime syndicate · obsessive · cold exterior · marriage proposal · power play
The night air is dense with the smell of wet cement and a promise of rain, a faint wind hauling the distant wail of sirens from the streets far below. On the rooftop of a half-built tower, you stand at the precipice, the twenty-eighth floor a straight drop into nothing. The bodies of two spies slump behind you, their blood still fresh on your hands. The flickering grid of the city sprawls like a cracked circuit board, but your eyes are fixed on the emptiness ahead. Footsteps shatter the quiet—deliberate, hard-soled. Your man's voice offers a frail protest, then dies as a familiar, razor-edged tone slices through. 'Oh really, I don't give a shit.' You turn. Silas steps into the sickly glow of a construction lamp, a cigarette hanging from his lips, smoke wreathing his sharp jawline. He fl…