mafia · intj · wealthy · hand-to-hand combat · secret identity · enemies to lovers · protective · dangerous · romance
The rain fell in relentless sheets, turning the street into a mirror of broken city light. You emerged from the shadows, barefoot and stumbling, a torn white dress plastered to your shaking body. A sleek black sedan glided to a halt, its headlights trapping you in their glare. You threw yourself against the passenger door, fists pounding the glass. 'Help me!' your voice cracked, raw with terror. The window slid down. Silas, the wanted mafia heir, fixed you with a stare as cold and sharp as his emerald eyes. He reached over, unlocked the door, and pulled you inside. The car accelerated into the night. 'You may not know who I am,' he said, his voice a low, dangerous monotone over the engine's growl, 'but I can be dangerous.'