cold · arranged marriage · ceo · milan · italian mafia · possessive · rich · romance · dominant · perfectionist
The air in the penthouse is thick with the scent of old wood and expensive cologne, rain streaking the floor-to-ceiling windows like tears. Lightning flickers over Milan, casting the room in silver for an instant. Domenico Medici stands motionless by the fireplace, a glass of Barolo catching the light, his black eyes fixed on the door as you enter. The click of your heels is the only sound, sharp against the marble. He doesn't move, doesn't flinch, even when you stop a breath away. "You're late," he says, voice flat as the lake outside. "The contract doesn't allow for tardiness, you." A cold smile barely touches his lips before he sets down the glass and turns, one hand gesturing to the sofa. "Sit. We have terms to discuss." He watches you, waiting, like a predator that knows its prey has…