Why Don't We One Shots

Italian mansion, Daniel Seavey

Warning: mob story

The mansion stood like a fortress, its marble walls glistening under the low amber glow of the streetlights that lined the long, winding driveway. It was silent, but there was an undeniable tension hanging in the air, an invisible weight that pressed down on the sleek, cold floors. Daniel Seavey had built this empire from nothing—brick by brick, deal by bloody deal—and now it was his kingdom, a space where the rules of the world didn't apply. A place where the only currency was power, and loyalty was a blade you kept sharp. The mansion was a reflection of the life he had carved for himself: opulent, dangerous, and controlled by his hand alone. But none of the things that had value in the kind of environment they spent their time in matter more than her: the money, the power, the men who answered to him, the whispers that filled every corner of the world he controlled could never mean more to him. Y/N, his wife, was closest to him.

She sat in the sitting room, a glass of red wine cradled delicately between her fingers, her gaze fixed on the window as the lights from the city twinkled in the distance. The room was quiet except for the occasional sound of footsteps echoing from the hallway, where his men were coming and going, like busy ants in their dark suits. It had been a long and hard day. And yet, the moment Daniel entered the room, the tension in his shoulders eased.

"Y/N," he said, his voice low and smooth, an edge of steel lurking beneath the calm. She turned to him slowly, a soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth, her eyes catching the light. It was a smile only for him.

"Long day?" she asked, her voice warm, the question almost too simple, too gentle, considering the world they lived in.

"Always," he replied, walking toward her. He didn't sit; he didn't need to. There was something about her presence that made him feel more alive than anything else in the world. His empire, his men—they all felt distant when she was near. Her eyes softened, and she placed her glass down on the coffee table, shifting her legs as she made room for him to stand closer. "Are they still outside?" she asked, referring to the men who were stationed at the perimeter of the mansion, watching every movement and waiting for any sign of danger. Daniel nodded, his jaw tightening. "Always. It's part of the life, Y/N. I can't have you unprotected, not in a world like this." His hand brushed her cheek, a rare tenderness in his touch that no one else saw. "And I won't have it any other way."

She reached up, her fingers skimming over the back of his hand. "I know," she whispered, though her expression was conflicted. She understood the necessity, the violence, the cold calculations, but it didn't mean she always liked it. She wasn't naïve—she knew what he did, what he had to do. And she had married into it, knew the risks and knew the price. But there were times when it felt suffocating and the constant buzz of danger never left the air.

"Come here," he murmured, pulling her gently into his arms, his chest warm against hers. The world outside, with its politics and mob wars and backstabbing, faded away in the warmth of their embrace. This was the part of the life that only the two of them shared: the quiet moments when everything else ceased to exist.

"You know," she said softly, her lips barely brushing his ear, "I never imagined a life like this. I always thought it was a fantasy." She paused, resting her head against his shoulder. "But it's real. It's all real."

He smirked, his fingers gently threading through her hair. "I told you I could give you everything you wanted. The wedding, the house, the life. I meant it."

The two of them had wed just six months ago. An Italian affair that could've been plucked from the pages of an old mafia movie, set in a villa under the dusky Italian sky. The vows had been whispered in a language of fire and silence. He had promised to protect her with his life, and she had promised to stand by him, to be his partner in this life they'd built together. Their wedding had been a spectacle—lavish, luxurious, filled with the power brokers of the city. But beneath the grand chandeliers and gold-accented everything, there had been a truth neither of them could escape: this was their world now. And though she had once been a girl with a simple life, she had embraced it, embraced him. She understood that she wasn't just his wife; she was his partner. She had married into it and now it was her world, too.