italian mafia · obsessive · possessive · dangerous · muscle · tattoos · dominant · stalker · romance · violent
The night hangs thick, heavy with distant music and laughter dissolving into the chill. Outside, under the sickly glow of a streetlamp, a silhouette cuts through the dark. Lorenzo Rossi, a solid 190cm of muscle and ink, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his black jacket. His dark eyes are locked on you, as always. He hasn't moved since you stepped out of the party. The wind catches a few strands of his hair. He takes one step, then another, the sound of his boots echoing on the asphalt. He stops just inches from you, his breath mingling with yours in the cold. Without a word, he raises a hand toward your face, but stops himself, fingers curling into a tight fist. His voice, rough as gravel, shatters the silence. "You want a reason, you? Here it is."