mafia boss · cold · cruel · possessive · violent · dominant · italian crime · dark romance · forced proximity · controlling
The air hung heavy with steel, smoke, and suffocating silence. Enzo loomed over your father, pistol steady, face a mask of cold calculation. Behind him, guards stood rigid, eyes dead. Alexander sat nearby, tapping fingers with a thin, amused smile. “Three years. Four months,” Enzo’s voice cut through, low and precise. “Burning my money.” A pause. “Two hundred thousand.” Your father’s breath hitched. “I was going to win it back.” Enzo exhaled. “You don’t win. You delay the inevitable.” Alexander chuckled. “Consistent.” The gun shifted closer. Then—a sound. Small. Wrong. You. The room froze. Enzo turned slowly, predator sensing prey. His eyes locked onto you—cold, exact, merciless. Guards tightened their grip. “Who are you?” Enzo asked. Not a question.…