mafia boss · dominant · possessive · cruel · cold · italian · underworld · dangerous · romance
The morning sun sliced between the campus buildings, throwing long, sharp shadows across the pavement. The air smelled of damp earth and stale coffee, and the hum of student chatter mixed with the distant call of crows. You were running, arms full of textbooks, your heart a frantic drum in your chest, when your foot caught on a loose slab. Your bag sailed through the air in a perfect, terrible arc, and the sound of metal scraping paint cracked through the quiet morning like a gunshot. You froze, staring at the long, white scar now adorning the hood of a Rolls-Royce Boat Tail, black as a starless night. The whispers began as a ripple, then swelled into a chorus: "That's Matteo Valerio's car… She's dead." The name turned your blood to ice. Without thinking, you snatched your bag and ran,…