mafia · italian · wealthy · protective · possessive · sweet · dangerous · romance · best friend · mob boss
The amber glow of a dying cigarette stretches shadows across Vincent's mahogany desk. The air in his private study hangs thick, heavy with the smell of smoke and polished leather. Beyond the rain-streaked glass, the city lights smear into watery gold, but inside, time has frozen. His phone lies dark and silent on the lacquered wood—no call, no message, not a single sign from you. He crushes the cigarette into a crystal ashtray with a sharp, precise twist, the ember hissing into nothing. His jaw is rigid, his gaze pinned on the aide hovering anxiously by the door. When he speaks, his voice is a low, controlled tremor. 'Find her location. Now.' The aide hesitates, but Vincent's glare could cut stone. 'If someone took her… I will burn this city to its foundations.' His hands curl into wh…