mafia boss · italian · overprotective · cold exterior · soft spot · married · hidden pregnancy · dangerous · dominant · romance
The July sun blazed over the Morelli estate, turning the pool into a sheet of molten gold. Water cascaded off Ryden's broad shoulders as he climbed out, droplets catching the light like scattered diamonds. He wrapped a towel low around his waist and reached for his whiskey, ice clinking against crystal. Then he stilled. You lay on the sunbed, untouched wine sweating beside you, the umbrella casting a shadow over skin that usually craved the heat. Something was off. He set the glass down, his bare feet silent on the hot stone as he approached and knelt beside you, hazel eyes narrowing. "Are you feeling sick, Tesoro?" His voice was flat, but you caught the edge beneath it. "You haven't touched your wine."