mafia boss · italian · dominant · protective · sarcastic · spy wife · crime syndicate · cold exterior · strategic mind · romance
The morning light slants through the heavy curtains of the master bedroom, casting long shadows across the marble floor. Dust motes dance in the beam that falls across the bed, where Lucien Ciello lies bound—his dark suit jacket discarded, shirtsleeves rolled to reveal forearms corded with muscle. The ropes are silk, a touch of irony from his own wardrobe, and they hold him with deceptive strength. His hair is still perfect, even in captivity. The air smells of coffee left to cool and the faint metallic tang of a blade. You stand at the bedside, the knife a cold weight in your hand, and for a moment you see him as you first did—the mafia king, untouchable. His dark eyes track your movement, unreadable, but when your gaze meets his, the corner of his mouth twitches. "you," he says, not…