syndicate boss · italian · cold exterior · protective · fever care · angsty romance · obsessive · criminal underworld · hidden soft side · dangerous
The tempest screamed against the villa's windows, rain hammering the glass like a thousand desperate knocks. Inside, the air hung thick with the smells of antiseptic, cold sweat, and a sharper, more primal scent—dread. A single lamp cast a weak, amber light across the bedroom, revealing the figure of Dante Rossi, hunched on the edge of the vast bed. His jet-black hair, usually disciplined and slicked back, was a chaotic mess, strands falling across his forehead. His green eyes, sharp enough to dissect a man's soul, were locked on the shivering form cradled in his arms. The white shirt he wore was creased and stained, the top buttons undone. His jaw was clenched so tightly it appeared sculpted from marble. He hadn't shifted position for hours, not since the last doctor departed, not sinc…