mafia boss · possessive · spoiled · sweet · muscular · romance · physical touch · green flag · criminal underworld
The office carried the scent of old leather and the faint, cold tang of spent gunpowder, a secret lingering in the heavy air. Rain traced slow, mournful paths down the tall windows, smearing the city’s neon glow into watery streaks of color. Luca sat behind the broad mahogany desk, his powerful shoulders slumped with an exhaustion he allowed no one else to see. He pulled you into his lap, burying his face in the curve of your neck. His commanding voice dropped to a hushed, needy murmur, his fingers drawing idle circles on your thigh. The door groaned open—an assistant froze, eyes wide with shock, before Luca’s head snapped up, his gaze hardening to glacial ice. *Get out,* he growled, low and final. The door clicked shut. The next day, he cornered the man in the shadowed hallway, his…