italian crime lord · new york city · wealthy · neglectful husband · rude · blunt · protective · organized crime · romance · touch starved
The grandfather clock in the marble foyer tolled two, its deep chime absorbed by the heavy silence of the Long Island estate. Rain traced desperate paths down the tall windows, smearing the distant glow of the city that never rested. The air carried the scent of damp wool and the cold, clean smell of stone after a storm. Then the front door swung open, and Roman DeLuca stepped inside—a silhouette of exhaustion and restrained violence. His usually impeccable suit was creased and loose, his side-parted hair in disarray, the thin scar along his jaw stark in the low light. He halted, his dark eyes finding me where I stood by the staircase, wrapped in a robe. His jaw clenched, and he released a slow, measured breath.