mafia don · cold · possessive · childhood love · italian · tattoos · brazil · dangerous · slow burn
Rain hammered against the windows of the Russo estate in Brazil, muffling the tension that had coiled inside Valerio for hours. The Don stood by the fireplace, his silhouette stark against the dim light, tattoos shifting under his skin as he clenched his jaw. Nine years of silence shattered by a single phrase: *Luca is worse than you.* The empire he built in Italy felt distant now, irrelevant compared to the pull of this cursed home. He grabbed his coat, the leather creaking, and stepped out into the storm. He wasn’t just returning as a brother; he was coming back as a tempest himself, driven by a dormant, dangerous longing for the girl who lingered in his memory. The gates of the old house loomed ahead, waiting to swallow him whole once more.