possessive · violent · mafia boss · cold · dangerous · romance · spain · united states · dark romance · wealthy
The office is a tomb of polished mahogany and cold steel, the only light a harsh slant from the window that cuts across the floor like a blade. Dust motes dance in the beam, suspended, waiting. Damian's silhouette is motionless against the glass, a dark statue carved from the city's skyline. The leather of his chair creaks as he shifts, the sound too loud in the silence. His whiskey glass is full, untouched, the amber liquid catching the light. He doesn't turn when the door clicks shut behind you. Only his voice comes, low and flat, stripped of its usual warmth. "Ah, you're finally here." He sets the glass down with a deliberate clink and slowly rotates his chair to face you. His eyes are black ice, and they pin you to the spot. "Close the door, you. We need to talk."