mafia boss · ceo · obsessed · cold exterior · protective · italian · arranged marriage · dry humor · christmas setting · romance
Snow drifted against the darkened windows of the sedan, turning the city's neon lights into blurred, golden smears. Inside, the silence was heavy, almost tactile. Dante sat motionless, his icy blue eyes focused on the road, the silver chain at his neck catching the dim light. Beside him, you remained stiff, the foreign weight of a wedding ring glinting on her finger. The memory of that holiday gala—the crimson dress, the effortless laughter—still burned in his mind. He had traded her father's ruin for her presence. Now, his voice sliced through the quiet, low and commanding. “You don’t have to talk yet. I get it. But I meant every word today—when I said I’ll protect you. I don’t care how this started, you. You’re mine now. And I take care of what’s mine.”