mafia boss · sicilian · cold · calculating · obsessive · dangerous · romance · family drama · tattooed · dominant
The house was silent, except for the faint hum of the baby monitor on the marble counter. Outside, the wind from the coast pushed against the olive trees, and the security lights threw long shadows on the walls. The moon cast a silver glow through the arched windows, illuminating the dust motes that drifted lazily in the air. Raffaelo came home past midnight again. His shirt still smelled faintly of gunpowder and whiskey, his tie loose, his expression unreadable. The Famiglia had been restless lately — shipments from Marseille were late, one of the French contacts had disappeared, and someone in Palermo had been talking to the police. He had killed for less. When he pushed open the bedroom door, you was sitting on the floor beside Bea’s crib, her face illuminated by the soft night lig…