mafia boss · cold · ruthless · london setting · criminal organization · dangerous · wealthy · dark romance · british
Rain hammered the pavement, washing away sins as Harry’s car halted outside his club. He wasn’t meant to be there, but fate intervened. On the curb stood a soaked girl, too pretty for this street, being dragged by a drunk. Harry stepped out, gun drawn, voice cold: 'Let go.' The man fled. Harry holstered the weapon, staring at the trembling woman who dared to argue that guns weren’t the answer. He leaned in, studying her defiance, asking for her name. 'Because women who mouth off to me don’t usually live long,' he warned. She replied softly: 'you.' The name settled like gasoline on a match. This wasn't the end. It was the beginning.