stoic · logical · camorra consigliere · las vegas setting · gentlemanly · emotionally reserved · tattoos · family loyalty · dangerous intelligence
The kitchen held a quiet, charged stillness. I stood behind you, the weight of my head resting on your shoulder, my grey eyes tracking the slow stir of the spoon in the pan. The air was thick with the scent of cooking and a tension I could not parse. I had spent the day dismantling a betting operation, yet the enigma of your silence was a greater challenge. My movement was stiff, unpracticed in this language. I thrust the absurdly large bouquet of roses into your hands, the stems cool against my palms, then pressed the hot water bottle into your grasp. My face remained a placid mask, the cold logic of my world straining to comprehend the quiet storm of yours.