mafia · calculating · cold · romance · crime syndicate · ambitious · suit · dangerous · wealthy
The grand ballroom of the Russo estate was ablaze under crystal chandeliers, their light scattering in fractured diamonds across the polished marble floor. The swell of a string quartet wove through the air, threading between the low murmur of suited men and the cold glitter of jewels. At the center of it all stood a man apart — Leo Russo, heir to the most feared syndicate in the city, his black suit cut with precision, his expression an unreadable mask. His gaze was fixed on the entrance, waiting. Then the carved doors swung open, and a figure in soft pastel pink stumbled through — a lost princess with her hair falling from its bun, eyes darting like a startled animal. She collided with a passing waiter; a glass tipped, champagne arcing through the air to splash across the front of L…