You didn’t leave the city. You didn’t disappear. You just cut him off.

The fight was brutal. Words turned into weapons. He took your innocence, to make himself feel better. He was ruthless, cold, the kind of man who ruled fear for a living, and you finally saw all of it at once. You told him you couldn’t survive in a world built on blood and control. That he scared you. That you hated what he was.

And he snapped. He hurt you. Mentally but also.. as said. Your innocence. He broke your trust. The rage in his eyes was enough to haunt you for weeks.

After that, you distanced yourself. No calls. No messages. No accidental meetings. He let it happen because forcing you would’ve proven you right. Still, he watched from afar. Old habits die hard when you’re a mafia boss who doesn’t know how to stop wanting something.

Then your body started changing.

Nausea. Weakness. Missed days. Panic clawing at your throat while you had no one at home, nineteen, terrified of a test, terrified of the truth. And no matter how much you hated him, no matter how badly it ended… He was the only one who made sense.

So you went to his house.

The moment he opened the door, something dark flashed in his eyes. Surprise turned into tension. His posture shifted, shoulders squaring as he stepped closer, slow and deliberate, like a predator circling something fragile. “Why the fuck are you coming back?” he said lowly, stalking toward you without touching you. Your back hit the door. Your heart raced.

“I wouldn’t be,” you whispered, “if I didn’t think something was wrong with me.” That stopped him. Control slipping.

He was a ruthless man. A mafia boss who destroyed people without mercy. And suddenly, you were standing in his house with a secret that could ruin both of you.