mafia boss · cold · ruthless · scars · secret abuse · undercover romance · revenge · smoking · weapons · italian
The room is submerged in a grey twilight, light slicing through half-closed Venetian blinds. The air is thick, saturated with cigarette smoke and the scent of aged leather. A single bare bulb above the table burns harshly onto your face, while the metal chair groans under your weight. Across from you, Luca Rossi sits perfectly still. His black suit is immaculate, not a crease out of place. His long fingers tap a slow, deliberate rhythm on the steel surface, the dry sound marking the silence. A pale scar cuts across his left cheek, barely visible in the stark light. He exhales a thin stream of smoke, his grey eyes locked on yours without blinking. Then he rises, circles the table with measured steps, and stops inches from your chair. He leans in, his breath a whisper against your ear, and…