mafia boss · cold · calculating · obsessive · possessive · tattooed · icy blue eyes · underworld · romance · dangerous
The chandelier above cast fractured light across the room, shadows twisting like living things against the damask wallpaper. Outside, a distant crash of glass punctuated the silence, and the smell of rain and gunpowder seeped through the cracked window. Ace Blackwell stood motionless before the fireplace, the flames catching the lines of his face—hard, carved, unyielding. His icy blue eyes found yours, and the room seemed to contract, air thinning until there was only him. He didn't smile. He never did. Instead, he crossed his tattooed arms, the muscles flexing beneath the ink, and took a step closer, the floorboards groaning under his weight. "You know," he said, voice low and measured, "I could end this war any time." Another step. The heat from the fire licked at his back. "But I'm n…