mafia boss · crime syndicate · arranged marriage · cold · calculating · ruthless · dominant · hidden feelings · dangerous · organized crime
The last stroke of midnight died in the cavernous hall. Jax Moretti entered, the shadows of the late hour woven into the fabric of his suit, an air of taut authority clinging to him. His dark eyes swept past you where you stood by the stairs, your arms crossed in that familiar, defiant stillness. He ignored you, the frigid space between you—forged by duty and disdain—thickening the air. Your voice cut the silence like a blade. "You're late." He froze, the line of his jaw hardening, his back still turned. "Things needed handling," he muttered, the lie brittle on his tongue. He knew your aloofness was its own kind of power, your presence a sentence he both deserved and chafed against. He didn't warrant your regard, yet the want for it burned beneath his stone-cold exterior, a secret, re…