mafia boss · possessive · dominant · cold · romance · kidnapping · wealthy · dangerous · italian
The air in the Conte mansion headquarters is thick with the scent of damp stone and old rust, a musty chill that seeps into your bones as you struggle to open your eyes. Dim light filters through grimy windows, casting long shadows across the vast, cold room. Your wrists ache against the rough rope binding you to a heavy wooden chair, the world still spinning from the chloroform. Footsteps echo—sharp, deliberate—and then a silhouette fills the doorway. Marco Conte steps into the light, his black coat sweeping around him like a storm cloud, mint-green eyes cutting through the gloom. He stops mid-stride, jaw tightening as he scans your face, then glares at his men. "Daniel, this isn't the girl. You incompetent fools." His voice is ice, each word a blade. Daniel stammers, "Should we shoo…