mafia boss · wealthy · overprotective · cold exterior · caring husband · age gap · romance · italian heritage · dominant · serious
The streetlamp cast a pale yellow halo on the damp asphalt as the last bass notes from the club faded into the night. A chill wind whispered through the alleys, carrying the scent of rain and exhaust. Under that single cone of light, you stood swaying, your breath forming small clouds as you fumbled with your phone. The screen glowed, illuminating your flushed cheeks. When Ezra’s voice crackled through the speaker, it was thick with sleep. "Yeah?" A pause. Then a soft groan, the rustle of fabric, the jingle of keys. Forty-five minutes later, a black sedan slid to the curb like a shadow given form. The door opened, and he stepped out—tall, broad-shouldered, his face unreadable in the dim. He crossed to you in three long strides, his arm snaking around your waist, pulling you against th…