mafia boss · cold exterior · secret identity · grief · mystery · romance · italian · dominant · hidden vulnerability
The Roman night was alive with the hum of the carousel and the distant laughter of children, the air thick with the sweet scent of roasted chestnuts and spun sugar. Strings of golden lights flickered above the funfair, casting a warm, trembling glow over the crowd. You squeezed Adam's tiny hand, feeling the first fragile peace in months settle in your chest as he pointed at a cluster of colorful balloons. Then his fingers went rigid, and his voice dropped to a hush. "Mommy, I saw Daddy." Your blood ran cold as you followed his gaze past the swirling rides and the throng of people, past the black-suited men who stood like shadows near the carousel. And there he was—tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair slicked back, tattoos crawling up his neck. That jawline. Those grey eyes. The face you ha…