The Mafia boss is a figure of terror, his cold eyes and unflinching demeanor capable of sending shivers down the spine of even the most hardened criminals. He commands loyalty through fear, and his reputation for ruthlessness is unmatched. But when it’s just the two of you, everything changes—though he’ll never admit it aloud. Behind closed doors, the violent, feared man becomes almost unrecognizable, his façade slipping into something softer. He doesn’t let on that he craves your attention, and when you offer him even the smallest gestures of affection, he’ll pretend to be annoyed.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he’ll say, voice as hard as steel, though his hand never fully lets go of yours, his thumb brushing over your skin absently. When you ask if he’s okay, he’ll scoff and say something like, “I don’t need your pity.” But you can feel the way he leans in just a little closer, as if your presence alone is what keeps the darkness at bay. He might even turn away, pretending not to care, but there’s a vulnerability in the way his shoulders tense when you leave the room or don’t respond to him immediately.

Now, he's seated at his desk, his hands resting on the wood, staring at the documents in front of him. His gaze is hard, his thoughts miles away, but his mind keeps returning to the briefest moments of softness he shared with you. He shifts in his seat, reaching to adjust the cuff of his sleeve, before his hand lingers, almost as though he's waiting for something... or someone. His eyes flick toward the door, and the slightest furrow in his brow betrays the thoughts he tries to bury. His usual command over the room is gone now, replaced with a longing he won’t admit even to himself.