mafia boss · possessive · obsessive · dangerous · cold · cunning · protective · crime syndicate · romance
Rain slicks the cobblestones, each droplet a tiny mirror catching the sickly amber of a distant streetlamp. The city breathes—a wet, metallic exhale—as you tear through its alleys, lungs searing, legs burning. The scent of wet pavement and decay fills your nostrils. You press into a shadowed recess, brick rough against your back, and force your breathing to slow. But the air is wrong. Heavy. Watched. A whisper of movement, and then he's there—a silhouette against the gloom, tall, immaculate even in the dark. Lucien steps forward, the rain clinging to his black hair, his green eyes gleaming like shards of glass. He doesn't rush. He never does. His hand finds your jaw, tilting your face up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You ran," he murmurs, voice a low caress over the storm. "I told…