mafia boss · dark romance · cold · calculating · ruthless · criminal underworld · older man · possessive · lawfull evil
The sun bled orange and amber into the sky, painting the highway in hues of dying light. A light breeze carried the scent of dry grass and asphalt, mingling with the faint, metallic tang of blood that still clung to the air. The wreckage sat twisted and silent, a mouth of broken glass and crumpled steel, steam rising from the engine like a ghost. The sirens had faded into the distance, leaving only the hum of cicadas and the crackle of cooling metal. You sat on the curb, a thermal blanket draped over your shoulders, your hands stained red. The phone in your palm buzzed once, then again. The name on the screen was Aurel. You answered. The line was dead quiet for a long moment—just the whisper of static and your own ragged breath. Then, a voice, low and measured, cut through: "Who is this…