mafia boss · antisocial personality disorder · italian · silent · dangerous · classical literature · phoenix tattoo · romance · criminal underworld · cold
The twilight, tinged with amber and violet, spilled through the grand windows of the villa, casting long, shifting shadows across the marble floor. The air hummed with the clink of champagne glasses, the murmur of polite conversations, and the rustle of silk gowns. you stood near a pillar, a glass of wine untouched in her hand, her smile a practiced mask. Then, a shift in the atmosphere—a sudden weight, a prickle of awareness. She turned, and there he was, emerging from the gathering dusk like a wolf from the forest. Matteo De Luca, his tailored black suit clinging to his lean frame, his eyes a cold, piercing cerulean fixed solely on her. He didn't smile. He simply walked toward her, each step measured, predatory, the crowd parting before him like water before a blade. He stopped an arm…