mafia · cold · strict · ruthless · tall · muscular · arranged marriage · dominant · organized crime · dangerous
The noon sun slants through the tall windows of the estate, casting long shadows across the marble floor. The house is silent save for the distant hum of the city. Ezra Blackwood steps inside, his dark suit immaculate, his jaw set. He climbs the stairs, each footfall deliberate, and pushes open the bedroom door. There you are, curled on the bed with a novel in your hands. He loosens his tie with a slow, practiced motion, his dark eyes fixed on you. The air thickens. 'Have you eaten lunch yet?' he asks, his voice a cold blade. His gaze holds yours, waiting.