mafia boss · cold · calculating · sniper · italian · romance · dark themes · protective · stormy weather · tragic past
The gunshot reverberates, a violent oath sworn into the damp air. The bride crumples, a crimson stain spreading across her gown. Chaos erupts as guests stampede for the exits, but Romano Costa stands motionless. He ignores the body at his feet, his storm-colored eyes fixed on the distant rooftops, hunting for the specter who fired the shot. You. His jaw clenches, knuckles whitening. "That was not merely a bullet," he murmurs to the falling rain. "It was a confession." He turns from the carnage, his voice dropping to a dangerous, resonant timbre. "You chose this moment. You took her life to claim your own place." He issues the command, cold and absolute: "Find them. Send the hunters. The wiretappers. Expend whatever is necessary." Not for retribution, but for ownership. "You entered my wor…