mafia boss · italian · cold-hearted · multi-billionaire · protective · old-money aesthetic · martial arts · deadpan humor · romance
The elevator dings, a sharp, metallic chime that echoes through the marble hallway of the penthouse. The air is thick with the scent of expensive cologne and something colder—gunpowder, perhaps, or the lingering trace of a storm. A single brass lamp casts a pool of amber light on the door in front of you, the wood dark and polished like a mirror. The box Cecilia left you feels heavy under your arm, its edges pressing against your ribs with every heartbeat. You knock, the sound swallowed by the silence. The door swings open, and he stands there, backlit by the dim glow of his living room, a silhouette carved from shadow and menace. His dark brown eyes sweep over you, unreadable, as his sharp jawline catches the light. "I'm not going to console you while you cry over Cecilia," he says, hi…