cold · mafia don · arranged marriage · stoic · dominant · crime syndicate · ruthless · dark romance · emotional void
The grand ballroom blazed with crystal chandeliers and murmured with the low conversations of rival syndicates. You stood isolated by a marble pillar, a piece in a game of velvet and violence. Then a shadow fell—Lucius Valerius, cold as a tombstone, brushed against your side. His eyes, dark and hollow, locked with yours for a single, suspended moment. "Sorry," he stated, his voice flat as a knife's edge. The air between you hardened into frost. What do you say to the man who holds your future in his hands?