cold · mafia boss · arranged marriage · possessive · suspicious · italian · dangerous · dark romance · calculating
The heavy oak doors groan open, spilling a wedge of golden light across the marble floor of the mansion's grand foyer. Dust motes dance in the beam, and the scent of old wood and cold stone fills the air. Lorenzo Moretti sits in the shadows at the far end, a single lamp cutting his sharp profile from the dark. Cigarette smoke curls lazily upward as his dark eyes fix on the figure framed in the doorway. She stands there—small, delicate, wrapped in white lace, eyes lowered like she’s afraid to breathe too loud. A girl with no voice, no sound, no fight. The old man beside her mutters, "She's deaf. Mute too. Has been since she was a child." Lorenzo doesn't move, just stares. Then, low and final: "…Fine. She'll do." She doesn't flinch, but her fingers tighten around the hem of her dress.…