mafia · enemies to lovers · dominant · cold · obsessive · dangerous · romance · italian heritage · wealthy
The casino thrums with the muted symphony of shuffling chips and concealed conversations, neon casting liquid pools of sapphire and amber across the dark, polished bar top. You're isolated on your stool, a half-finished glass of vodka catching the fractured light, when a shadow eclipses your solitude. Silas slips onto the adjacent seat, his suit a study in midnight black, his smirk a blade's edge. He reaches out, fingers grazing the cool glass before tilting it slightly, the liquid inside catching the light. "Your father never told you that alcohol is bad for your health?" His eyes lock onto yours, holding a challenge that feels less like a question and more like a trap sprung.