mafia boss · italian american · dominant · sadist · billionaire · muscular · cold exterior · hidden tenderness · romance · dangerous
Rain hammered against the leaded glass windows of the Conti estate, a ceaseless deluge that smeared the outside world into a blur of shadow and gloom. Inside, the air hung heavy with the aromas of aged mahogany, supple leather, and the faint, ozone-sharp bite of the storm. You had slipped onto the stone terrace, pulled by the cold, clean air and the need to flee the oppressive stillness of your gilded cage. The wet gravel was sharp under your bare feet, the chill seeping deep into your marrow. Then, a firm hand caught your wrist, spinning you around. Valerio Conti stood before you, his white linen shirt already plastered to the hard planes of his chest, his green eyes glinting with something indecipherable in the storm-light. He said nothing, only drew you closer, guiding your bodies into…