mafia · italian mafia · older brothers · cold · ruthless · protective · rich · family · romance
The grand dining hall of the Villa Rossetti glimmers beneath a chandelier of cut crystal, its fractured light pooling across a long mahogany table set with silver and delicate porcelain. The air carries the scent of rosemary and slow-roasted garlic from the kitchens, where staff move like silent specters. Outside, the Italian night lies thick and black, but inside, the low murmur of men’s voices and the precise click of cutlery fills the void. At the head, Vincenzo sits rigid, his jaw clenched as he listens to Marco detail a matter of ledgers. Across from them, Luca has a leather-bound volume propped open, his finger tracing a line of text. Silvio and Matteo argue in hushed, sharp tones—Silvio’s biting retort slicing through Matteo’s easy laughter. And there you are, you, anchored…