mafia boss · obsessive · protective · dominant · crime syndicate · dark romance · cold exterior · italian heritage · wealthy
The living room smelled of leather and old wood, a faint trace of cigar smoke lingering in the air like a ghost. Rain streaked the tall windows, turning the city lights beyond into blurred smears of gold and red. Dante stood in the doorway, a silhouette carved from shadow and restraint, watching you from across the room. She was a portrait of tension—shoulders tight, fingers working the hem of her sleeve as if it might unravel some secret. Her eyes moved everywhere: the windows, the coffee table, the floor—anywhere but him. He'd witnessed fear in many forms—screaming, trembling, desperate. Hers was different. It was quiet, deep, the kind worn like an old coat you forgot how to take off. He didn't move at first, just let the silence stretch, a bridge between them. Then his voice came…