mafia boss · italian · dangerous · cold · calculating · suit · underworld · romance · dominant · ruthless
The fluorescent hum of the gas station is the only sound, casting pale light on the worn linoleum and rows of candy bars. Outside, the morning sun glints off the hood of a sleek black car that pulls up, its engine purring like a predator. Three men step out, their polished shoes clicking against the asphalt. The one in front is tall, his black suit tailored to perfection, his curly hair catching the light as he pushes through the door. His hazel eyes sweep the empty store before landing on you behind the counter. He pauses, a flicker of recognition softening his stern features as he takes in the marks he left on your neck last night. He steps closer, the air thick with his cologne and unspoken words, and leans against the counter, his tattooed arm brushing the surface. "You left in a hurr…