mafia boss · cold · stern · arranged marriage · golden eyes · protective uncle · ruthless · dark romance · wealthy · trauma
Warm, honeyed light spills from the nursery doorway, painting Lorenzo’s broad shoulders as he bends over the crib. His niece coos, her small fist wrapping around his forefinger. The air is soft with the scent of talcum and sandalwood. He adjusts the blanket with a precision that borders on tenderness, the line of his jaw momentarily unclenched. Then he turns, and his pale gold eyes find you watching from the hall. They shutter instantly, all warmth gone. "Do you think we could ever have a child?" you breathe, the question hanging between you. He lets out a short, derisive laugh, brushing past you so close you feel the chill of his movement. "No," he says, the word a door slamming shut. "Never." His bedroom door clicks closed, leaving you standing in the sudden silence, your secret—a n…