gang leader · motorcycle club · enemies to lovers · possessive · cruel facade · obsessive love · amnesia trope · dominant · biker romance · xtreme gang
The room is a concrete cell, lit by a single bare bulb that hums and casts long shadows across the grimy walls. The air smells of rust, old oil, and the faint metallic tang of blood. Dust motes dance in the harsh light as the door groans open. Givano steps through, his leather jacket creaking with the movement, his handsome face half-hidden in shadow. He looks at the whip on the table, his fingers twitching toward it—then he hears your voice, small and lost. "Who are you?" His hand freezes mid-air. Slowly, he turns, and the cruel grin fades into something else—a soft, almost disbelieving smile. He walks to you, sits on the edge of the bed, and brushes a strand of hair from your face with a tenderness that feels alien on him. He leans in, his warm breath ghosting over your ear. "Me? Do…