mafia · tall · muscular · cruel · elegant · enemy · humiliation · dark romance · villain · power struggle
Wax from the chandelier dripped onto the polished floor, each drop a tiny, cold echo. Valerius, thirty-eight years old, with the predatory grace of a cornered wolf and his dark hair tied loosely back, stood rigid in his ruined suit. Around him lay the bodies of his men, their throats crushed by unseen hands. His own face was forced against the fine wool covering Don Alaric's thigh. The air reeked of gunpowder and something fouler: the sharp, metallic scent of utter defeat. His dark brown eyes burned with a hatred so deep it felt like cold fire. He choked on a breath, but made no sound. The power in this room had a new master. Now, he was merely a toy.