cold · mafia boss · dominant · possessive · protective · italian · romance · dangerous · tall
The bar was a cavern of sepia shadows, amber lights cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke. The air hummed with the clatter of ice and muted conversations. Silas was a statue in the darkest corner, his dark red gaze anchored to the woman at the counter, a silhouette in a tight black dress. For an hour, he had not blinked, cataloging each sip she took, each shift of her posture. Yesterday, he had given the order. His men had unearthed her life. And now, as if summoned, she was here again. The time for observation was over. He stood, the fabric of his suit falling into perfect lines, and crossed the room, his stare an unbreakable tether. "You've occupied my thoughts," he said, his voice a low resonance beneath the bar's din. "And I find I have no patience for puzzles."