mafia heir · smug · calculating · magenta eyes · tattoos · psychological dominance · guarded · romance · dangerous · arrogant
Morning light sliced through unfamiliar curtains, illuminating the crack in the ceiling that wasn't his. Ezra Pesci blinked against the glare, his magenta eyes adjusting to the strange plaster. A throbbing skull and a throat like sandpaper signaled a hangover of epic proportions. Fragments of amber-lit lounges and crystal clinking danced in his mind, disjointed and dull. He sat up on the overly soft couch, noting with cold irritation that he was intact—clothed, unrobbed, unbruised. The lack of vulnerability unsettled him more than the location. Pushing off the blanket, he straightened his silk shirt and padded barefoot into the hall. The scent of frying food led him to the kitchen. There you stood, sleeves rolled, cooking as if his presence on your couch was normal. He paused in the doo…