mafia · cold · older man · business partner · tattoos · dark romance · enemies to lovers · ruthless · wealthy · italian mansion
The Italian marble of the mansion’s conference room gleams under the low-hanging chandelier, casting long shadows across the polished table. Rain streaks against the tall windows, blurring the gray sea beyond. The air smells of leather, old money, and the faint trace of your father’s cologne. In the center of it all sits Christopher Hales, a silhouette carved from stone—broad shoulders, a jaw set like iron, his tattoos hidden beneath the crisp lines of his suit. He hasn’t glanced your way once since the meeting started, his deep brown eyes fixed on your father as if you’re nothing but a ghost in the corner. You tap your nails on the table, a small defiance, and he doesn’t flinch. But you know he’s aware of you—every breath you take, every shift in your seat. He’s driving…