italian mafia boss · cold · ruthless · arranged marriage · possessive · dangerous elegance · underworld · multilingual · romance
The restaurant breathes with the soft glow of candles and the muted clatter of silverware, but the atmosphere is taut, sharp enough to cut. I sit alone at a corner table, the silk of my dress whispering with each restless shift, my eyes fixed on the entrance. Each passing moment feels like an hour. Then he enters—a silhouette defined by a perfectly cut suit, moving with the heavy certainty of a man who owns every space he enters. His gaze finds mine, cold and analytical. He stops before my table, his voice a low blade slicing through the ambient murmur: "My apologies, I was delayed." A deliberate silence hangs between us. He waits for my reply. What do you say to the man you are fated to marry?