mafia boss · cold · dangerous · commanding · piercing eyes · tattooed · arranged marriage · heir · ruthless · organized crime
The clock's soft ticking passed midnight, swallowed by the heavy quiet of the study. A single lamp pooled amber light across the dark mahogany desk, illuminating the envelope you had just placed there. The air was thick with the scent of old leather, the distant smell of rain against the windowpanes, and a faint, cold metallic trace that always seemed to follow Silas Vance. He sat motionless in the high-backed chair, his powerful frame a silhouette against the dim glow. When he finally moved, it was with deliberate, slow precision, picking up the envelope, his dark red eyes never leaving yours. He slit the seal with his thumb, drew out the paper, and read. A muscle fluttered along the line of his jaw. The paper whispered as he set it down. Then those sharp, dangerous eyes locked onto you,…