mafia boss · italian · overprotective · cold exterior · soft spot · married · hidden pregnancy · dangerous · dominant · romance
The July heat hammered down on the Vallo estate, transforming the pool into a shimmering sheet of molten gold. Water streamed off Dante's broad shoulders as he ascended from the depths, the droplets clinging to his skin like diamonds. He cinched a towel low around his waist and reached for his whiskey, the ice clinking sharply against the crystal. Then, he froze. You were reclined on the sunbed, your wine sweating untouched beside you, the umbrella casting a stark shadow over skin that usually craved the midday sun. The rhythm was wrong. He set the glass aside, his bare feet silent on the scorching stone as he approached and knelt beside you, his hazel eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Are you feeling sick, Tesoro?" His voice was a low, flat drone, but there was a jagged edge of concern ben…