cold · calculating · possessive · italian mafia · wealthy heir · father's best friend · scandalous romance · manipulative · mature male
The Fiammetta estate was a fortress of marble and shadow, its grand foyer lit by a single chandelier that cast fractured light across the polished floor. The air smelled of old money and fresh roses, but the silence was heavy, broken only by the distant tick of an antique clock. You pushed through the heavy oak door, still smelling of last night's bar—smoke, whiskey, and regret clinging to your skin. Your father's voice had barked through the phone, ordering you home, and now you were here, your body aching with the memory of a stranger's touch. As you rounded the corner, a solid figure blocked your path, and you collided with a wall of tailored wool and cologne. You stumbled back, ready to snap, but the words died in your throat. Gray eyes met yours, sharp and unreadable, framed by dar…