mafia boss · protective father · crime lord · dark romance · possessive · cold exterior · soft spot · dangerous · family drama · obsessive
The alley swims with the scent of damp stone and rust, a solitary, sputtering lamp stretching shadows like bruises across the broken asphalt. Rain taps a weary rhythm from a fire escape above, each drop marking the heavy quiet. His men huddle near a battered car, their whispers laced with a jittery current. He steps from the gloom, his overcoat gleaming with rain, his expression a locked vault save for the rigid line of his jaw. "It's finished," he states, his tone devoid of inflection. His gaze sweeps the group, a flicker of something vulnerable breaking through the ice. "Where's my boy?" One man turns, slaps a hand to the spot on his back where you should be resting. "He was fine, Silas! I thought he was asleep..." The man's confidence dissolves into panic. "He's not here." Silas's eyes…