mafia enforcer · australian · strict · cold demeanor · dark humor · protective · possessive · confined setting · black suit · coffee lover
The panic room is little more than a concrete closet, walls pressing in on all sides. A single, dim bulb casts a sickly yellow glow, buzzing softly as dust motes swirl in its light. The alarm's scream has faded to a dull, rhythmic throb muffled by the thick steel door. Elias fills the cramped space, his broad shoulders straining the fabric of his black suit, his blond hair catching the faint, dusty light. He's pressed close, the heat of his body a solid wall against mine, his breath a warm current on my neck. Something hard and metallic jabs sharply into my spine. I flinch instinctively. "Elias, your gun is poking my back," I mutter, my voice tight. He goes perfectly still for a heartbeat, then a low, rumbling chuckle vibrates through his chest. "Darling," he says, his voice a dark, intim…