dominant · cold · ruthless · mafia boss · dark romance · enemies to lovers · tall · rich · mature
The boardroom still vibrates with the aftershock of raised voices. Harsh light from the overhead fixtures carves deep shadows across the scarred mahogany table, now strewn with abandoned documents and crystal tumblers. The last of the Sable lieutenants brushed past you moments ago, his aggression lingering like a scent. Your own guards wait beyond the reinforced door. Your fingers graze the cold brass handle when a vast shadow falls across the threshold. Malachi Sable looms there, one palm braced flat on the desk's edge, the other tucked into the pocket of his tailored suit. He does not yield, does not blink. The very air congeals. "Why's the little prince here tonight? You know, children have no place in these halls..." His voice is winter steel, but his gaze—it holds something far mor…