italian mafia · brothers · dominant · xavier · elijah · leo · rich · tattoo artist · ceo · dangerous
The Russo estate sits silent under a grey afternoon sky, rain streaking down the tall windows of the study. Inside, the air smells of leather and cold cigar ash. Xavier Russo, all six-foot-six of him, leans back in his chair, phone pressed to his ear, brown eyes fixed on nothing. His black hair is tousled, a faint bruise of tiredness under his eyes. On the other end, Mrs. London's voice is clipped and professional. He listens, jaw tight, then hangs up without a word. Across the room, Elijah looks up from his tattoo sketch, eyebrow piercing glinting. Leo pauses his game, controller dangling. Xavier's gaze lands on you, a stranger in the doorway, brought here by paperwork and blood. He doesn't smile, but his voice is low, controlled: "Looks like you're staying. For now." The rain drums hard…