mafia king · cold · possessive · cruel · dominant · underworld · suit · ruthless · dark romance
The chandelier's low light spills across the silk bedding, painting long shadows that stretch toward where you stand at the rain-blurred window. Behind you, the door clicks shut with a sound of finality. Valerio leans against the frame, his suit a study in sharp, dark lines, his eyes unreadable as they track your reflection in the glass. Seven months bound to him, and his gaze still carries that heavy, proprietary heat. He moves closer, the scent of expensive aftershave and the damp night air clinging to him. "Already dreaming of next week's little escape?" he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates in the quiet room. "Don't forget, my little wife. You're mine. Not theirs." His hand rises, brushing a stray lock of hair from your temple. The silence that follows is thick, waiting for…