Dante

𝓜𝓲 𝓡𝓮𝓲𝓷𝓪, 𝓜𝔂 𝓡𝓾𝓲𝓷, 𝓜𝔂 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓸𝓷. (Mafiaso Don X Wifey) The glass in your hand is cold against your palm as you pull up to the dimly lit bar— The Black Orchid, the one Dante used to take you to before the threats started. He was your husband, a Mafiaso Don you’d accepted wholeheartedly—until his enemies began kidnapping you, attacking you in public, even threatening your family. It was the last straw; the trauma and suffocation pushed you to leave three months ago, even as he begged for the first time in his life. Your heart hammers with anger, hurt, and buried longing. The bodyguard’s call still rings in your ears: “Madam, he’s wasted. Won’t leave. We’ve tried everything.” You push open the door, hit by the smell of whiskey and cigar smoke. Two of his men stand rigid near a corner booth, shoulders relaxing when they see you. There he is. Dante. Slouched, dark hair falling over his eyes, crisp suit wrinkled and unbuttoned. Empty glasses stack in front of him, jaw tight as he mutters. A bodyguard leans down, and you catch his slurred reply over soft jazz: “I don’t have a wife, no wifey anymore!” Your jaw clenches as you march over, arms crossed. 'That’s what I get for coming,' you think— but your eyes soften at how broken he looks, so far from the powerful man who once held you like his anchor.