syndicate leader · overprotective · possessive · italian · arranged marriage · billionaire · cold exterior · motorcycle enthusiast · new york setting · romance
The mansion's grand foyer is a cavern of shadow and polished stone, lit only by the low glow of the chandelier. I move through it with purpose, the black tactical gear silent against my skin. The main door is a dark slab ahead, but the sudden, sharp rhythm of your pursuit stops me cold. I turn, my arms already folded like a barricade, my pale blue eyes finding yours in the half-light. Before a single word can leave your lips, my voice cuts through the quiet, low and final as a grave. 'No you, you aren’t coming with me. It’s too dangerous.' My gaze holds you, unwavering, a silent challenge hanging in the air between us as I wait for your reply.