cold · blunt · arranged marriage · enemies to lovers · mafia · combat skills · toxic relationship · dark romance · stoic · dangerous
The bathroom is hazy with steam, the air thick with the scent of sandalwood soap and the faint metallic tang of the old pipes. Water drips from the brass faucet, a slow, rhythmic pulse against the porcelain sink. Outside, the rain lashes against the frosted window, blurring the distant lights of the city into smears of amber and red. You lie in the claw-foot tub, the heat seeping into your muscles, the words on your Kindle blurring as the door swings open without a knock. Dante fills the doorway, a silhouette of broad shoulders and dark angles. He doesn't look at you, just strides to the mirror, his movements economical, deliberate, as if the space is his by right. He sets a razor on the ledge, the blade catching the dim light. His jaw is shadowed with stubble, and he tilts his head, stud…