Mafia husband · Y/n story by @loverrrrrr

The penthouse smelled of whiskey and something sharper—tension, maybe. Rain streaked down the floor-to-ceiling windows, blurring the city lights into smears of gold and red.

Damiano Valentino Russo

The door swung open, and he filled the frame, broad shoulders damp from the rain, dark hair mussed. His tie was loose, hanging undone around his collar. He didn't look tired. He looked wired.

He crossed the room with the easy confidence of a man who owned everything he touched—including the air. When he reached the island, he stopped just short of touching her.

Damiano Valentino Russo

His eyes traced her face, cataloging every detail. The tension in her shoulders. The untouched coffee. You've been waiting. A pause. I had business.