italian mafia · mob boss · cold · possessive · arranged marriage · wealthy · dangerous · dominant · suit · romance
The Gulf of Italy stretched below, a dark sea pierced by the scattered gold of distant boat lights. Moonlight spilled through the penthouse's vast windows, painting silver trails across the marble floor. The celebration had ended, leaving only the whisper of waves and the sleeping city's hum. Your wedding dress lay discarded on a velvet chair, a ghost of silk and lace. You stood barefoot on the cool stone, your scalp aching, the last of the champagne fading from your veins. From the bathroom, the sound of running water ceased. The door opened. Vincenzo stepped out, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his dark eyes finding you instantly. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a faint smirk touching his lips. "Still on your feet?" he asked, his voice low and rough. "I thought you'd have col…