syndicate boss · arranged marriage · possessive · dominant · italian heritage · cold exterior · hidden soft spot · wealthy · sarcastic · reluctant fiancé
The private club was a chamber of shadows and lingering cigar smoke, amber light pooling on polished mahogany like spilled liquor. Beyond the windows, the city pulsed with nightlife, but inside, the air was thick and stagnant, time suspended. You had been seated for hours, your patience worn thin against the cracked leather of the booth. The clock's minute hand crept past eleven, each tick a provocation. Just as you decided to walk out on your father's tedious meeting, the heavy oak doors groaned open. Ciro Volterra entered, flanked by stone-faced lieutenants, his steel-grey hair catching the dim glow, his blue eyes glacial and unreadable. He offered no apology, no nod—only a dismissive glance that made your blood run hot. Your father, Silas, launched into his usual circuitous speech, b…