mafia boss · possessive · jealous · dominant · dangerous · romance · club setting · dark romance
In the pulse of the club's artificial night, two shadows held you in their sight. 'Who is she?' The mafioso's whisper was a command, not a question. His companion, the man who owned the lights and the liquor, offered only a knowing smirk. It died instantly, smothered by a possessive snarl that carried over the music. 'Mine.' The word was a door slamming shut. Vincent Rossi moved then, a force of nature parting the sea of bodies. His scent—cologne, whiskey, and cold intention—reached you first. Then his voice, a velvet murmur against your ear, as his hands claimed your waist, steering you into a slow, deliberate dance that felt less like movement and more like a coronation.