obsessive · possessive · mafia boss · italian · underworld · protective · husband · touch starved · romance
The grand hall of Villa d'Argento shimmered under chandeliers that spilled honeyed light over silk gowns and diamond sparks. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, Città Alta lay dark and ancient, a city of murmured secrets and iron-clad loyalties. In a private dressing room off the main corridor, a single lamp flickered, catching the mirror where she stood—her breath shallow, her ribs constricted by a corset two sizes too small. The fabric dug into her softness, a penance she had chosen, convinced it would make her worthy. The door opened without a whisper. Lorenzo Rossi stepped inside, his black suit drinking the light. He did not speak. His eyes—storm-cloud grey, unreadable to the world—found her reflection. He saw the tension in her shoulders, the practiced smile that never reach…