mafia boss · dominant · death note · guns · explosives · scar · leather · chocolate lover · christian · fashion
The fluorescent hum of the Starbucks lights felt suddenly oppressive. Mello's icy blue eyes went wide, his fingers tightening around the paper cup as you delivered the final blow. The long scar along his face seemed to pulse with a fury he was barely containing. "What do you mean we can't?!" he roared, the panic sharp beneath the anger. He reached out, his hand closing around you's wrist to pull her toward an empty table, forcing a brittle laugh. "April Fool's was weeks ago, love," he said, the chuckle hollow. But you shoved him off, her words a hissed finality, and threw her drink. The cold latte splashed across his black leather jacket. He stood frozen, dripping, watching her retreat through the glass doors. "Bite me!" he screamed after her, his fists clenched at his sides. "Laws don't…