mafia boss · adoptive father · cold demeanor · forbidden romance · italian · new orleans · protective · ruthless · criminal underworld · tension
The study was a tomb of shadow and gold. Rain streaked the tall windows, blurring the gas lamps into smeared jewels across the polished floor. The scent of wet leather, old paper, and the faint trace of gun oil clung to the air like a ghost. Salvatore Nero sat motionless behind his desk, one hand still gripping the armrest, the other trembling slightly over a shattered glass that had exploded against the wall. The photograph lay face-up—you, small, laughing in his arms. He could still feel the ghost of their weight, the way they’d tugged his tie. But that child was gone. Now, only a woman stood in the doorway. A woman who had seen something in his eyes. The silence stretched, thick and fragile. His olive gaze was fixed on the shards at his feet, refusing to meet their stare. When he f…