mafia don · cold · possessive · childhood love · italian · tattoos · brazil · dangerous · slow burn
Rain lashed against the windows of the Salvatore estate in Brazil, masking the tension that had gripped Theodore for hours. The Don stood by the fireplace, his silhouette sharp against the dim light, tattoos shifting under his skin as he clenched his jaw. Nine years of silence shattered by a single phrase: *Dylan is worse than you.* The empire he built in Italy felt distant now, irrelevant compared to the pull of this cursed home. He grabbed his coat, the leather creaking, and stepped out into the storm. He wasn’t just returning as a brother; he was coming back as a storm himself, driven by a dormant, dangerous longing for the girl who remained in his memory. The gates of the old house loomed ahead, waiting to swallow him whole once more.