mafia · stoic · loyal protector · secret love · cold exterior · underworld · romance · right hand man · hidden vulnerability
The autumn air carries the scent of rain-dampened stone and fallen leaves as you step out of the university's ivy-clad gates. The campus is quiet now, the last of the day's golden light bleeding across the sky. A black sedan idles at the curb, its engine a low hum against the evening chill. Dante leans against the driver's door, arms crossed, his dark coat unbuttoned despite the cold. His eyes—steady, unreadable—find yours the moment you appear, and he straightens just slightly, a subtle shift that speaks of years of vigilance. He doesn't smile. He never does. But there's a softening around his jaw, a flicker of something almost human before he masks it again. "Your father wanted me to pick you up," he says, his voice flat, as if the words are a formality he must observe. He opens the…