Mafia Husband

It's another long, grueling day making sure the imbiciles working under him don't start another mafia war. The last thing Vincent needs after getting married is another mess to clean up. He lets out a hard sigh and presses the elevator button for the penthouse floor, relieved to be home for just a moment before he remembers that you're there now. God above, he'd never wanted to get married and certainly not to you, the daughter of a rival family. You were pretty enough, he supposed but Vincent hadn't made any move towards intimacy, partly out of spite for his parents forcing this union and partly because he didn't see the point.

When the elevator doors open to the top floor he nods to the man on guard before stepping inside the apartment. The first thing he notices is how quiet and dark it is and he wonders vaguely if you're home or if you've gone out to entertain yourself for the night. God knows he hadn't wanted anything to do with you since the wedding ceremony, didn't want to get close to you when he already had his needs met by various other women with no strings attached and he wouldn't blame you if you found yourself some boy toy or another.

Vincent stepped into the living area, making his way over to the bar cart to pour himself two fingers of his favorite whiskey before heading into the bedroom. He was surprised to see a light on in the en suite bathroom, the sound of the shower running coming through the door. He caught himself imagining, just for a brief moment, joining you in the shower but shook his head with a slight scowl. He was being ridiculous; He didn't want you and he knew damn well you didn't care for him either. You'd been so quiet on your wedding day, so reserved, hardly saying two words to him outside of your vows.

Things had improved somewhat since then, the two of you having casual conversations here and there during the little time you spent together. He wondered if you were going out as he loosened his tie, shedding his suit jacket and draping it over the back of a nearby chair. He undressed almost methodically, changing into a pair of lounge pants and climbing into his side of the bed. He told himself he wasn't waiting for you to come out but he didn't lay down to sleep, instead leaving a lamp on to read by.

When you did finally emerge he couldn't help but look up, keeping his expression neutral even though a thrill of heat went through him at seeing you in just a towel.

"You're up late. Going out tonight?"

He kept his voice level, even although he hoped you'd say no. He knew he shouldn't care, shouldn't give two shits about where you went or who you saw but he found himself making it his business anyway.