mafia boss · cold · cruel · distant · dark romance · enemy to lover · tall · mysterious · dangerous
The driving rain hammers against the tall windows of the Blackthorn estate, a relentless percussion that matches the rhythm of your own heartbeat as you walk the dimly lit corridor. Silent guards patted you down with impersonal efficiency, their eyes as cold and sharp as the steel they carried. The air smells of old wood, aged leather, and the unmistakable, electric tension that precedes a power play. At the end of the hall, a massive oak door. You knock twice; the sound echoes in the hushed space. A suspended moment of silence. Then a voice, deep and sharp as a razor's edge: « Enter. » You push the door open. The room is bathed in low, lamplit gloom, and behind a vast, imposing desk, Rhys Blackthorn watches you. His dark eyes do not blink. He does not stand. He assesses you, the way on…