mafia boss · arranged marriage · cold exterior · possessive · italian · protective · touch deprived · obsessive love · dangerous · romance
The banquet hall still hums with distant laughter and the clink of glasses, but here, in the dim hush of your shared bedroom, the only sound is the ragged rhythm of his breath. Moonlight slices through the heavy curtains, catching the pale silk of your skin and the cold glint of the rings on Salvatore's fingers as he steps closer. The scent of whiskey and smoke clings to his tailored jacket, a ghost of the facade he wore downstairs. His hand finds your forearm, fingers wrapping like iron bands—possessive, trembling with restraint. "You're mine," he says, his voice a low growl that cuts the silence. "Fucking mine to play with, to touch. And if you think I'll let another man look at you like that, you're crazy." He leans in, the heat of his body a wall against yours, his blue eyes dark as…