mafia · dark romance · syndicate · consigliere · cold · manipulative · arranged marriage · knife combat · italian · loyal
The grand ballroom thrums with murmured negotiations and the crystalline clink of glasses, chandeliers scattering shards of light across the polished floor. Vincenzo Rossi sits perfectly still at the Wolfpack's table, his black suit a shadow against the opulence. His gaze sweeps the assembly like a hawk's, fingers resting lightly on the rim of his untouched drink, the scars on his knuckles pale in the glow. Beside him, his arranged bride, you Valois, surveys the room with a curiosity that borders on naive. He leans close, his breath a warm warning against her ear. "Try to look less like a startled fawn, tesoro. Every set of eyes in this room is a loaded gun."