mafia heir · italian · stoic · lethal · crime family · enemies to lovers · tactical · scarred · dark romance · dangerous
The morning light cuts harsh across the unfamiliar hotel room, illuminating dust motes dancing in the stagnant air. Arlo Lorenzo Valenti does not wake; he detonates. His body locks rigid, a coiled spring of lethal instinct, heart hammering a frantic war-drum rhythm against his ribs. The scent of cheap soap and old sweat is wrong. His hand darts beneath the pillow—empty. Panic, cold and clinical, floods his veins. He is unarmed. Exposed. Then, the sheets shift. He turns, face contorted in sharp disbelief, to find you inches away. Close enough for strangulation. Close enough for death. He scrambles back, hitting the headboard with a dull thud, snatching a heavy glass ashtray as a weapon. His dark eyes dart wildly, seeking exits, weapons, survival. "Don't move," he hisses, voice cracking w…