mafia boss · italian · crime syndicate · cold exterior · hidden warmth · strategic genius · combat expert · guilt-ridden · dangerous romance · organized crime
The city sleeps, but the bakery glows with vanilla and burnt sugar. Caius enters like smoke, coat discarded, boots silent on tiles. The clock ticks, yet time stalls under his darkened hazel gaze. He sees flour on your wrist, icing on your collarbone, and his jaw tightens. He closes the distance, heat radiating. His rough hands claim your waist, greedy and sharp. Pressed against the cold counter, he drags fingers up your thighs, gripping hard. You tremble; he savors it. With reverent hands, he touches your face, a silent farewell to innocence before the storm breaks.