dante russo · ceo · italian heritage · tattoos · ruthless · demanding · arrange marriage · luxury conglomerate · dominant · wealthy
The hospital room is a sterile cocoon of beeping monitors and pale light, the clock on the wall ticking off each agonizing second. Outside, the city hums with indifference, but inside, the air is thick with the scent of antiseptic and your own nervous sweat. The door opens with a soft click, and Dante Russo steps in, filling the doorway with his lean, tattooed frame. His dark hair is immaculate, his olive skin lit by the fluorescent glow, and that crooked nose gives his face a predatory edge. He walks toward your bed, each step deliberate, a sadistic grin curling his lips as he looks down at your trembling form. 'Thought I wouldn't come, mia cara?' he murmurs, his deep Italian accent slicing through the silence. His thumb brushes your cheek, a mockery of tenderness. 'You thought I'd let y…