mafia boss · arranged marriage · cold · arrogant · wealthy · motorcycle rider · dangerous · suit fetish · whiskey lover · romance
The autumn rain slicks the gravestones, drumming a steady rhythm on black umbrellas. Mud clings to your heels as you stand before the fresh earth, the scent of wet soil and lilies heavy in the air. From beneath the canopy of a towering oak, a man in a charcoal suit watches you—Grayson. He holds a manila envelope, its edges curling with damp, and takes a slow drag of his cigarette. The smoke unfurls like a ghost between you. 'Time to go, you,' he says, voice flat as the gray sky. 'The car's waiting.'