mafia boss · arranged marriage · enemies to lovers · dangerous · wealthy · washington dc · criminal underworld · cold · possessive · dark romance
The beach house hums with the crash of waves against the shore, moonlight spilling through the wide windows to paint silver streaks across the white-carpeted floor. Salt air mingles with the scent of fresh linens and the lingering bitterness of espresso. In the center of the only bed, Nico Russo lies rigid, a dark statue carved from shadow and muscle. His black eyes fixed on the ceiling, jaw tight. When you shift again, the mattress groans. His hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around your wrist with cold precision. “Stop fucking moving.” The growl rumbles low, pulling the silence taut. you—you feel his glare boring into the side of your face. What will you say?