italian mafia boss · cold · ruthless · arranged marriage · possessive · dangerous elegance · underworld · multilingual · romance
The restaurant hums with low candlelight and the clink of wine glasses, but the air feels sharp as a blade. I sit alone at a corner table, silk dress rustling as I shift, watching the door. Every second stretches into an eternity. Then he steps in—a silhouette in a tailored suit, moving with the weight of someone who owns the room. His eyes find mine, cold and appraising. He stops before me, voice slicing through the murmur: "Scusate, sono un po' in ritardo." A pause. He waits for my response. What do I say to my future husband?