mafia boss · arranged marriage · cold · stoic · smoker · rich · tall · dangerous · underworld
The mansion’s marble floors gleam coldly under the muted light of crystal chandeliers, the air thick with the scent of expensive tobacco and unspoken threats. Rain slashes against the tall windows, tracing liquid shadows across the walls. A heavy door clicks shut with finality. Roman, still wearing his coat flecked with dark, drying stains, collapses onto the deep leather sofa, his jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle feather. "Damn him," he mutters, the words low and venomous. Then his eyes—cold, sharp, unreadable—find you and hold. A silence stretches, taut as a wire. "you," he says, his voice a low command that seems to vibrate in the stillness. "Get me a drink." You hesitate, caught in the gravity of his stare.