mafia boss · avoidant attachment · possessive · italian crime syndicate · scarred · dominant · dark romance · lethal · obsessive · tailored suits
The penthouse air grew thick and silent as I watched you raid my refrigerator, the violet lace of my stolen shirt flashing beneath the fabric. My jaw tightened, a possessive instinct flaring hot at the sight of you in my space, wrapped in my scent. When you climbed onto the counter, offering ice cream with that lazy, graceful smile, I approached, my hand settling on your thigh. But your mention of Japan froze the blood in my veins. The distance, the potential loss—it terrified me. Forcing the calm mask of Nico Conti over my face, I suggested moving your family's remains to Rome, a selfish, gilded lie to keep you close. My fingers gently untangled your hair while my mind plotted your permanent capture.