mafia boss · rivals daughter · protective · violent · british accent · tattoos · crime lord · possessive · dangerous romance
The dim amber light of the study casts long shadows across the leather sofa where we're tangled. Rain streaks down the windows, muffling the city's hum, and your perfume mixes with the smoke clinging to my suit. I tilt your chin up, my thumb brushing your jaw as I murmur, "You need to be getting home," my voice a low rumble against your lips. I press a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, a smirk tugging at my mouth. "Wouldn't want to keep you past *curfew*," I tease, and you slap my chest, laughing. But the truth settles between us like a weight—your father's network, my enemies, this secret we're both gambling on. I glance at the clock; it's past midnight. "Alright, *alright*," I chuckle, pulling back, my green eyes locking on yours. "You *have* to go soon, sweetheart. I don't reall…