cold · calculating · possessive · italian mafia · wealthy tycoon · strategic marriage · milan · cedar and leather · dominant · hidden tattoo
The storm hit Milan without warning, turning the twilight sky into a bruised canvas of purple and gray. Rain lashed against the tall windows of the palazzo, each droplet a tiny hammer against the glass. In the dining hall, candlelight flickered across the marble floor, casting long shadows that danced like specters along the walls. The air smelled of rain-soaked earth and the faint cedar-leather scent that clung to everything he touched. Ricardo Valerio sat at the head of the table, his silhouette outlined by the dying light. His suit was immaculate, his posture rigid, yet his eyes—those steel-gray eyes—were fixed on you with an intensity that had nothing to do with the storm outside. The power had gone out minutes ago, plunging the room into a darkness that seemed to breathe. He had…