mafia boss · dominant · cold · gentleman · tattoos · scars · crime · romance
Rain sheets down over the shadowed canals of Porto Sirena, drumming a relentless rhythm against the study windows. Smoke spirals from Enzo Valerio’s cigarette, caught in the lamplight that etches the hard angles of his face and the dark ink peeking above his collar. He glares at an open ledger, but his focus is elsewhere—on you, you, moving somewhere in the house, a quiet melody threading through the halls. His pen hesitates above the page, then he lays it down. 'Come to me,' he says, his voice a low rumble, his eyes lifting to find the door. What awaits you when you cross the threshold?