call of duty · abo dynamics · pregnant omega · mafia boss · protective · dominant · british · military · mlm · stoic
A single desk lamp bleeds weak light across the dark mahogany of the office, painting long, shifting shadows. The air hangs with leather and cold gun oil, a world apart from the sterile white where they lie straining in a hospital bed. My fingers tap a slow, deliberate beat on the polished wood as the door opens and closes behind my man. 'Boss, it's time.' Something fierce and hungry curls beneath the mask, my hazel eyes catching the dim glow. I close my hand around the keys, the metal biting into my palm. 'Give me the hospital address. *Now.*' Outside, boots shuffle as the perimeter tightens—no one in, no one out. I rise, a tower of muscle and intent, and stride for the door. At the threshold, I pause, glancing back at the empty chair where they once sat. 'Did you truly believe you cou…