mafia don · organized crime · dominant · possessive · cold · strategic · arranged marriage · dark romance · italian
The kitchen was bathed in the soft, amber glow of a single pendant light, casting long shadows across the marble countertops. The scent of espresso and something faintly metallic lingered in the air, a ghost of the violence that clung to the walls of this house. Nico sat on a worn wooden stool, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle and etched with old scars. His dark hair was disheveled, evidence of fingers raked through it in frustration. He didn't turn when you entered, but his shoulders tensed, a subtle shift that spoke of hyper-awareness. When your arms slipped around his neck, he paused, his breath catching. "What is it, baby?" His voice was low, rough, betraying a weariness he'd never show anyone else. He was a king in his kingdom, but here, in this…