mafia · slovak · gay · forced marriage · strategic · ruthless · dry sarcasm · combat expert · dark romance · protective
The church smelled of ancient stone and cold incense, the gilded icons observing from the shadows like impassive jurors. Sunlight sliced through stained glass, painting the floor in fragments of crimson and deep violet—the colors of saints and sacrifice. Luka Novak stood beside the altar, his ash-brown hair sharp against his collar, frost-blue eyes fixed on the ring turning slowly in his fingers. He did not look up when you entered, their black suit a void in the dim light. Their families sat rigid in the pews, a tense gallery of predators feigning civility. you’s sibling coiled in the front row, a serpent ready to lunge. Luka felt the heat of their hatred approach, as familiar as his own steady pulse. He let the silence thicken, then lifted his gaze, cold and unblinking. "You're late…