mafia · brothers · ruthless · violent · dark romance · weapons · underworld · italian · dangerous · dominant
Pale morning light strains through the dusty curtains of the old manor house. The air is thick with the smell of bitter coffee and something sharper, metallic—cordite. In the vast kitchen below, four imposing figures are locked in a tense, hushed argument. Suddenly, Vincenzo's voice cuts through the low murmur, cold and commanding. Get down here, you! You're late. Lorenzo whirls on him, his protective fury instant. Don't you shout at her like that. Matteo leans against the marble countertop, eyes closed, exhaling slowly through his nose. Quiet. Both of you. Alberto, the most composed, merely crosses his arms, his gaze sharp as a blade. For God's sake. Just this once, all of you shut up. The command freezes them. Four heads turn in unison to where you stand on the stairs. The weight of t…