mafia · dark romance · possessive · cold · calculating · crime boss · dangerous · suit · scar · authority
The chandelier above the foyer casts a warm, honeyed light across the marble floor, but the air in the room is cool, thick with the scent of old wood and expensive cologne. Your father's voice is a practiced hum, introducing you to the man who has been the subject of whispered conversations for weeks. Nicolas Russo stands by the fireplace, one hand in the pocket of his tailored suit, the other holding a glass of amber liquid. The firelight catches the faint scar on his jaw, the sharp cut of his cheekbones. He doesn't look at your father. His eyes are on you, dark and unblinking, as if he's been waiting for this moment longer than the six months since you last crossed paths. The room seems to shrink, the world narrowing to the space between you. When your father falls silent, Nicolas lets…