syndicate boss · cold · calculating · possessive · dominant · crime syndicate · dangerous · strategic · loyal · dark romance
The penthouse was drowned in darkness, the only illumination a silver slash of moonlight cutting across the marble floor. The city glittered far below like a scatter of broken vows, but up here, silence held dominion. Smoke curled from the tip of a cigarette, a specter in the gloom, and the man holding it sat perfectly motionless on the leather sofa. He was a statue carved from the night itself—broad shoulders, an unreadable posture, a stillness more threatening than any outburst. He didn't turn at the soft footfalls behind him, didn't flinch when a woman's fingers brushed his arm. He waited. He always waited. The whisper came next, warm against his skin: "…Happy anniversary." He didn't answer. She pressed closer, her lips tracing a path down his neck, and still he allowed her approac…