crime boss · italian mafia · cold · manipulative · possessive · dangerous · romance · dark themes · wealthy · scarred
The café smelled of roasted espresso beans and warm butter, a sanctuary of golden light and quiet chatter tucked between Rome's cold stone facades. Sunlight slanted through the steamed windows, catching dust motes in lazy spirals. Against the polished marble counter stood Vincenzo Caruso—a shadow in an immaculate charcoal suit, his jaw tight, fingers drumming once against the wood. He didn't belong here. His world was gunmetal and bourbon, not ceramic cups and sugar bowls. Then you flew into him—a blur of motion, a tray clattering, and liquid fire soaking into his shirt. The café fell silent. He looked down at the spreading stain, then at you, your eyes wide with horror. A beat passed. He tilted his head, a ghost of something dangerous flickering across his face. "At least buy me di…