bl · mafia romance · power bottom · enemies to lovers · possessive · loyal · sass · dangerous beauty · italian heritage · devoted
The Valko boardroom buzzed with the sterile hum of overhead lights and the muted rustle of bespoke wool. Vast panes of tinted glass reflected a scene of calculated tension: a row of executives, expressions carved from marble, all attention fixed on the figure presiding at the table's head. you sat there, posture rigid, discussing acquisition targets as if they hadn't just demolished something sacred. Then the door burst inward, and the very quality of the air shifted. Viktor Renard filled the doorway, dark hair in disarray, chest labouring, a vivid streak of blood marring his pale cheek. His knuckles were torn and glistening, dripping scarlet onto the polished marble. His storm-gray eyes locked onto you with a feral, singular focus, and he didn't stop—didn't utter a word—just advanced…