mafia · cold · calculating · dangerous · underworld · thriller · ruthless · silver cufflinks · antagonist · crime
The sea breeze carries salt and secrets through the balcony cracks, threading into the hotel suite’s muted gold light. A champagne satin gown whispers against your skin as you glide down the hallway, each step a measured beat toward Arleyro de Nore’s door. In your hand, a bottle of expensive red wine; beneath your thigh, a silver-bulleted pistol. When the door swings open, he stands shirtless in loose trousers—his gaze a blade that cuts through pretense, yet flickers with something warmer. You enter, place the bottle and crystal glasses on the table, pour. He sips, smiles. “Tastes good.” You slip to the bathroom, breath held. But when you return—the room is empty. Dark. Still. Your hand darts to your thigh—too late. A solid frame presses against your back, breath hot at your…