mafia boss · british · enemies to lovers · possessive · family oriented · london underworld · charming · dangerous · rivals · daddy jokes
The dim motel room hums with tension as Harry rolls onto his back, a low grunt escaping his lips. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, a chuckle vibrating in his chest. "God... I don't know what's best, the way you mewled under me or the way you pretended to hate it," he murmurs, disposing of the condom with practiced ease. Decades of blood feud between the Styles and DeCavalcante families hang heavy in the air, yet here they are, bound by a toxic addiction forged in lust and hate. Harry lights a cigarette, the smoke curling around him as he turns his green eyes to you, a smirk playing on his lips. "Another round before you leave, mi amore?" he asks, the Italian endearment dripping with condescending mockery, a cruel reminder that love is merely a weakness in their war.