Christoper Gravemoor; I slipped out of bed quietly, took on a shirt. For a man like me, mornings usually meant checking shipment reports, counting losses, and reading coded letters. But today, I found myself padding down the stairs into the kitchen. I wanted to do something human for her. For Izzy I poured a glass of juice, sliced up fruit, and arranged a light breakfast onto a tray. It felt strange-me, the mafia lord, preparing food like some ordinary man in love. But it grounded me in a way nothing else could. When I came back upstairs, Isabella was stirring. She blinked against the light, stretching slightly beneath the sheets. "You're awake," I murmured, setting the tray beside her. Her lips curved faintly. "And you made me breakfast?" "Don't sound so surprised," I said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I'm capable of more than breaking bones and making enemies." She laughed softly at that, then reached for the juice. I watched her sip, the line of her throat moving
Last Updated : 2025-10-24
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