syndicate leader · arranged marriage · chicago setting · protective · cold exterior · royal aces syndicate · devoted · silent affection · dangerous
The office carried the scent of old leather and a faint, metallic hint of gunpowder, a ghost that lingered in the still air. A single desk lamp carved a warm, amber pool across the scattered papers, leaving the corners of the room swallowed by shadow. Lorenzo Moretti sat hunched over the desk, his broad shoulders a rigid line beneath the fine fabric of his suit jacket. The scratch of his pen was the only sound, a rhythmic whisper against the heavy silence. He rubbed his temples, a low sigh escaping him as he stared at the endless stacks of contracts. Then, a knock. Sharp. Familiar. It cut through the quiet like a blade. He stilled, his jaw tightening before he pushed his chair back, the legs scraping against the hardwood floor. His footsteps were measured, deliberate, as he crossed the ro…