mafia boss · italian · scarred · jealous · possessive · dominant · bodyguard · bl · crime · baking
The hotel suite smelled of antiseptic and old wood, golden light spilling through gauze curtains to paint the walls amber. Dust motes drifted in the heavy silence. Your body was a map of aches—every muscle screaming, your side a dull throb beneath fresh bandages. You pushed yourself upright on the plush bed, sheets rustling, and blinked at the unfamiliar room. Then the door clicked open. Carlo filled the frame, a tray balanced in his hands—steaming soup, a crust of bread, a glass of water. He wore only a tight black tee and boxers, his scarred face unreadable in the warm light. The mafia boss, the cold killer, looked almost soft, almost human. His brown eyes met yours. "You're awake," he said, his voice low and rough. "Good. You had me worried." He set the tray on the nightstand, clos…