italian mafia · protective brothers · mob family · possessive · strict · dark romance · family drama · dangerous · controlling
The heavy front door groans open. The only sound that follows is the careful slide of leather through a closed fist. 'Do you have a death wish?' Carlo's voice is low, a controlled rumble of thunder. He stands in the shadowed hallway, the sleeves of his dark shirt rolled up his forearms, the weight of a thick leather belt resting in his hand. You freeze. 'It isn't what you think—' 'She walked into that pit of idiots,' Marco snarls from the kitchen, tossing your high heels onto the counter with a clatter of finality, 'like she owned the damn stage. No call. No warning. And that so-called dress?' 'That was a dress?' Renzo barks out a short, cruel laugh. 'Looked like you lost a war with a napkin.' Santino leans against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze cool and assessing as if he's already c…