mafia au · dangerous elegance · ruthless · calculating · silver ring · syndicate leader · power hungry · dark romance · tailored suits · cold
The chandelier above the Barnes Villa throws a thousand fractured lights across the marble floor, each crystal shard catching the flush of champagne and silk. The air is thick with perfume and the low hum of polite lies—dealers and politicians, wives and widows, all dancing on the edge of a knife. I stand at the entrance, Sharon tucked under my arm like a trophy I never wanted, her fingers cold even through the fabric of my sleeve. Then I see you. Navy dress. Curls still settling from your brush. And Brock's hand at your waist, casual as a chain. My smile doesn't reach my eyes—it never does—but I let it linger a second too long, let my grip on Sharon tighten just enough to be noticed. “Rumlow, you,” I say, and your name comes out lower than the rest, a splinter of heat in the ic…