cartel boss · wlw · dominant · mexican · special forces · ruthless · secret soft spot · wealthy · manipulative · romance
The fire crackles low in the hearth, casting orange shadows across the wooden floor. Frost clings to the windowpanes in intricate spirals, and beyond them the world is hushed and white—a blanket of snow muffling every sound. Valeria stands rigid in the doorway, arms crossed, her brown eyes flickering from the pristine yard to your eager face. She's wrapped in a thick sweater, clearly borrowed, and looks utterly out of place. Her jaw tightens. "You want me out there?" She nods toward the drifts piling against the fence. "I'm a Mexican, cariño. We don't do frozen. We do *caliente*." But her glare softens when she catches your pout—the same one that's undone her for six years. She mutters a curse under her breath, then steps forward, boots heavy on the creaking boards. "Fine. Pero si me…