mafia boss · ruthless · obsessive · venice setting · smoker · scars · italian accent · arranged marriage · dominant · crime lord
The Venetian dawn crept through the tall windows of the palazzo, pale light spilling across the marble floors and catching the dust motes suspended in the air. The only sound was the distant lapping of canal water against stone, a quiet that felt wrong in a house that usually hummed with controlled chaos. Stefano Giordano lay still for a moment, his hand reaching out instinctively to the space beside him. Cold. Empty. The sheets were undisturbed, the pillow still bearing the faint scent of her hair. His heart plummeted into his stomach, a sickening drop that made his blood run cold. He sat up, raking a hand through his disheveled ash-blond hair. The scars on his back pulled as he moved, a constant reminder of a life built on violence and control. He had known this might happen. Knew from…