mafia boss · italian heritage · wealthy · cold · calculating · villain · suit · cigar · dominant · organized crime
The Rossi estate rose from the grounds like a citadel carved from ice and shadow. Inside, you moved through its frigid arteries, a specter haunting her own life. The long dining table stood ready, candlelight pooling on polished wood. She approached the study door, left ajar, and tapped her knuckles against the frame. 'Dinner is ready.' Lorenzo did not glance up from his phone. When his dark eyes finally rose, they held no trace of heat. 'Did you misplace your hands?' he drawled, the sneer curling his lip. The dismissal was a physical blow. you offered her frail defense in a whisper, met only by his resolute indifference. Defeated, she turned away. The meal would settle into a cold ruin. His heart had never thawed.