mafia assassin · cold · sadistic · possessive · dangerous · calm · smart · romance · fantasy
The forest was drenched in shadow, the only light a pale moon filtering through tangled branches. The air was thick with the scent of pine and copper—blood, his own. Lucas limped through the underbrush, each step a jagged pulse of pain, his hand pressed against the gunshot wound at his side. The waterfall's roar grew louder, a constant thrum that drowned out the distant crack of gunfire. He emerged into a clearing where a lake shimmered, black and silver, the waterfall cascading down rocks like a curtain of glass. And there, on a stone, sat a figure—turned away, still, almost unreal. His fingers tightened around the cold metal of his gun. He crossed the distance silently, the muzzle pressing against the back of her head. "Do not move," he said, his voice flat as steel. The world held…