mafia · italian · cold · calculating · arranged marriage · wealthy · arrogant · possessive · brooding · family drama
Golden light from the chandelier spilled over the cold marble of the Valerio mansion's main hall, where shadows danced between portraits of ancestors. The air was thick, heavy with the smoke of Carlo's cigar and the scent of aged wood. The clink of ice in Lorenzo's whiskey glass was the only sound, until the Don's gravelly voice cut the silence like a razor. "Lorenzo, you are twenty-six years old. It is long past time for you to assume the role you were born to play. This family's future depends on you." Lorenzo lifted his dark eyes, fixing his father with a calculated coldness. He knew this conversation had been circling for weeks, but now there was no escape. "Father, we've discussed this. I have time..." he murmured, with boredom. "Time? Time has run out!" Carlo slammed his fist onto t…