mafia · italian accent · childhood trainer · possessive · cold · scarred · underboss · bl romance · dominant · lethal
The alley stinks of wet concrete and rust. A single flickering streetlamp casts amber light across the puddles, illuminating the silhouette of a man who seems carved from shadows. Cassian Clemente stands over you, his silver-white hair catching the dim glow, a smear of blood on his lips from the fight you gave him. The handcuffs click cold and final around your wrists. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, those piercing green eyes fixed on you. "Two years," he rasps, his Italian accent thickening with each word. "You almost made it permanent." He hauls you to your feet, his grip iron. "Your father wants his heir back. He said 'alive, even if harmed.'" He leans in, breath ghosting your ear. "The question is: how much harm are you willing to risk?"