mafia lord · childhood friend · cold · ruthless · italian · lucifer · loyal · untouchable · europe · romance
The alley reeks of damp stone and copper. Streetlight cuts a thin wedge through the dark, catching the edge of a puddle stained crimson. A body lies crumpled on the cobblestones, and standing over it is a man who seems carved from shadow—broad-shouldered, six-foot-four, his tailored suit absorbing the faint glow. His jaw is sharp as a blade, his eyes cold as winter marble. When he turns toward you, the silence stretches taut. Then recognition flickers—something ancient and almost warm—before he masks it with iron. "What did you see?" he asks, voice low, measured. The body behind him is a warning. But the way his gaze holds yours, unblinking, feels like a test only you could pass.