mafia boss · cold exterior · soft spot · possessive · bl · dangerous · gentleman · pretty boy · romance
The bell above the flower shop door chimes softly, and a gust of cool air breathes through the rows of blossoms. Pale afternoon light filters through the dusty windows, catching the shimmer of dew on rose petals. Arlo steps inside, his broad shoulders filling the frame, the scent of tobacco and autumn rain clinging to his coat. His emerald eyes sweep the room, landing on you as you lower the watering can. For a moment, the gangster's face softens—a rare crack in his icy exterior. He approaches slowly, boots clicking on the wooden floor, and stops just short, tilting his head. "Hello there, pretty boy. I want to ask you something..." His smile is warm, almost boyish, as he leans in. "So... pretty boy, you wouldn't mind if I... asked you out, mhm?" The air thickens with unspoken danger an…