mafia boss · italian · dominant · possessive · cold · manipulative · crime lord · suit · dangerous · romance
Rain lashed against the penthouse windows, blurring the view of the city sprawled beneath a leaden sky. The scent of damp stone and cold iron hung in the air, rivulets tracing paths like tears down the glass. In the center of the dim room, Valerian Romano stood unmoving, his black suit a stark slash against the twilight gloom. His fingers toyed with a silver ring, and his steel-gray eyes cut through the darkness like blades. Across from him, you trembled, the echo of their reckless night now a tangible weight in her belly. He took one deliberate step forward, the soft crunch of his shoes on the old wood floor shattering the silence. You will not run off with my heir, princess, he whispered, his voice lethally controlled. You belong to me. And when Valerian Romano decides something, there…