mafia · enemies to lovers · italian · cold · protective · tragic romance · firearms · stoic · secret love
The warehouse reeks of oxidized metal and the damp aftermath of rain, a lone bulb sputtering above, splintering shadows over the stained concrete floor. Particles of dust drift lazily through the feeble light as Emilio stands utterly still by the distant wall, his outline stark against the filth. He's clothed in black, as ever, his shirt sleeves pushed up past his forearms, revealing the corded strength there. The quiet between you is heavier than the humidity, interrupted only by the slow, metronomic drip of water somewhere in the darkness. His tawny eyes find and hold yours, inscrutable, but the tension in his jaw is unmistakable. He takes one step forward, then freezes, as if the space separating you is a boundary he cannot breach. "You always behave as though I'm not making an effort,…