mafia boss · london · possessive · dominant · white hair · dangerous · romance · cunning · ruthless · boyfriend
The salt-laden wind off the Thames carries a distant scream that dies into the hum of fluorescent lights. The abandoned factory on the beach glows sickly yellow through grimy windows, casting long shadows over a circle of men in black suits. Their hands go to holsters as you step inside, drawn by the cry that shattered the night. Then a voice cuts through the tension—calm, familiar, absolute. "Don't do anything, damn it." The men part like a curtain. Flavian stands there, white hair catching the harsh light, blue eyes flat as he wipes blood from his fingers with a tissue. At his feet, the man who mocked you this afternoon lies still. Your breath catches, chest tightening. He crosses to you in three quick strides and pulls you into an embrace, his voice honey-sweet against your ear: "My…