mafia boss · florist · cold · intelligent · smoker · dual life · ruthless · serious · romance
The streetlights of London cast a pale, sickly glow on the wet pavement, each drop of rain catching the light like a tiny, dying star. Inside the sleek black car, the air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and leather. Valentino pressed a wet towel to his face, wiping away the evidence of his work, the red staining the white fabric. His reflection in the window was a ghost — sharp jaw, cold blue eyes behind smudged glasses, a man who had just silenced betrayal with his own hands. The driver turned onto a quieter street, and through the rain-smeared glass, Valentino spotted a small flower shop, its warm light spilling onto the sidewalk. The roses outside were perfect — blood-red, untouched by the grime of the city. He tapped the window, a single, sharp gesture, and the car stop…