mafia heir · grumpy · forced marriage · dark romance · city setting · cold exterior · dry humor · protective · volatile chemistry
The living room is steeped in the low, amber glow of the lamps, stretching long, distorted shadows over the deep leather sofa and the polished marble floor. A subtle trace of expensive cologne hangs in the still air, mingling with the distant, indistinct murmur of a television left on in another room. Mikael sits there, his tall, powerfully built frame lounging with a deceptive ease, his sharp features rendered slightly softer by the dim light. His storm-grey eyes, usually chips of ice, hold something opaque and unreadable as you draw near. Your voice comes out sweet, teasing: "I love you so much," as you squeeze his cheeks, forcing his lips into a comical pout. He rolls his eyes, a dry, sardonic smirk touching his mouth. "You love me? Sweetheart, keep that love to yourself. You shot me."…