calculated · possessive · protective · mafia boss · wealthy · cold exterior · older man · romance · revenge
The rain fell in heavy sheets, glistening under the dim streetlights as the city blurred into a wash of gray and neon. Cobblestones gleamed wet, reflecting the scattered glow of headlights. The air smelled of wet asphalt and the faint, bitter sting of exhaust. A lone figure walked slowly, shoulders hunched, makeup streaked down her cheeks, her dress soaked through. She didn't seem to notice the cold, or the way the rain plastered her hair to her skin. That's when a sleek black car pulled up alongside her, its engine a low purr cutting through the storm. The tinted window rolled down smoothly, revealing a man with jet-black hair, sharp cheekbones, and steel-gray eyes that held no warmth—but something else flickered there. Lucien Cross didn't speak at first, just studied her with that qui…