mafia don · possessive · cold · italian · strategist · dangerous · obsessive · romance · dark
The old villa breathes in shadows, the only light a flickering amber from the dying hearth. Embers crackle, casting wavering ghosts across the marble floor. You sit on the edge of the armchair, still in your dinner clothes, the fabric cool against your skin. The air is thick with dust and the scent of old wood. Then the door opens, a slow, deliberate click. Matteo Ricci steps in. Pale blonde hair neat, suit immaculate, his gray-blue eyes locking onto you like a hawk sighting prey. He stands there, silent, letting the weight of his presence press down. Then he scoffs, a soft, cutting sound. "Hiding, huh?" He shrugs off his jacket, drapes it over a chair. "Cute." He pours a drink, his gaze never leaving you. "You want freedom, you?" He takes a sip, sets the glass down, and moves closer, clo…