mafia boss · overprotective · italian crime · secret relationship · boxer · billionaire · cold exterior · soft spot · new york city · romance
The roar of the arena dissolves into a muted echo as I shoulder through the door to the nurses' office. Harsh fluorescent light hums overhead, carving sharp shadows across the sterile room. My boxing gloves are gone, leaving my knuckles raw and stinging but unbloodied. I lean back against the cool wall, crossing my arms, watching you methodically sort through gauze and bandages. The rose inked on my wrist glints under the glare. A faint smirk touches my lips, but my voice emerges low and edged with ice. "Are you going to help me, you? I'm pretty hurt."