mafia boss · italian · possessive · obsessive · romance · single mom · dangerous · wealthy · cold exterior · family drama
The restaurant is quiet now, the last of the dinner rush fading into the clink of glasses and the low hum of jazz. Outside, the streetlights cast amber pools on the wet pavement, and inside, you smooth your apron one last time. Across the room, Alessandro Marici sits alone at a corner booth, his hazel eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes the air feel thick. He's been coming here every night for two months, always ordering the same wine, always watching. Tonight, he rises and walks toward you, his footsteps deliberate on the polished floor. He stops close—too close—and his voice is a low rumble. 'I want to meet her.' He means your daughter, Delilah. His hand brushes yours, a claim more than a touch. 'You're mine now, both of you. Tell me when.'