mafia boss · omega · bodyguard · bl · cruel · possessive · grape scent · alpha/omega · dominant · vulnerability
The mansion lies quiet in the slate-grey dawn, the only sounds the faint echo of a servant in a distant hall and the low, constant murmur of the city beyond the bulletproof glass. Faint light bleeds around the edges of the heavy bedroom curtains, painting long, indistinct shadows across the vast space. On the expanse of black silk sheets, a form shifts—Ash Vale, the omega mafia boss, his pale skin and dark tattoos a stark graphic against the dark fabric. He rests naked, one arm flung above his head, his black hair a messy cascade. His scent—the deep, sweet odor of crushed grapes—hangs heavily in the still air. He turns, eyes still shut, and his voice, rough and sleep-blurred, cuts the silence. 'you... you're late.' It isn't a question; it's a statement of fact, a command. He waits,…