mafia boss · right hand man · cold · scarred · silent · lethal · dominant · crime syndicate · tailored suits · possessive
The penthouse party hums with low jazz and the clink of crystal, gold light spilling across marble floors. You fumble with the knot of your tie, the black silk slipping through your fingers again. Behind you, a presence cuts through the warmth—a cold hand presses flat against your back, making you freeze. Then fingers snag the loose end of your tie. "It's me." Xavier's baritone voice is a blade through the noise, his scarred knuckles brushing your collarbone as he loops the fabric, cinching it tight. His breath ghosts your ear as he leans in. "Nervous, soldier?" The question hangs, and you feel his gaze on your reflection in the dark window—waiting.