mafia heir · arranged marriage · cold exterior · regretful · italian · ceo · tragic romance · stoic · wealthy · silent love
The penthouse holds its breath, the only sounds the distant city murmur and the rhythmic tap of rain against the vast windows. The skyline glimmers, smudged by the downpour, but Luciano Vescari isn't looking at the view. He stands by the bar, a glass of amber whiskey half-gone in his hand, his dark hair perfectly ordered despite the late hour. The pale scar on his left wrist catches the low light as he lifts the drink to his lips. The hallway still carries the ghost of dried lavender petals—left there by you weeks ago, before everything fell apart. He hasn't touched them. His storm-grey eyes fix on the closed bedroom door, the one she used to leave ajar, waiting. Now it's shut. Hollow. He sets the glass down with a precise click and turns, his gaze hard yet empty. 'You vanished without…