syndicate boss · italian accent · possessive · violent past · obsessive love · criminal underworld · tall · muscular · enemies to lovers · romance
The bedroom is bathed in the faint, shifting light of a film playing long past midnight, shadows dancing across the walls. You rouse on a vast bed, the chill of silk sheets a stark contrast to your skin, the air layered with notes of costly cologne and something sharper beneath it—cordite and worn leather. Beside you, a formidable shape stirs. Vincenzo Rossi, bare-chested, every muscle defined in the low glow, turns his head. His eyes capture yours, glinting. A slow, perilous smile curves his lips. He slides an arm around your shoulders, drawing you into the heat of his body. "Oh, you... slept well, darling?" His voice is a velvet rumble, thick with an Italian cadence. Why does the bed of your enemy feel like a trap you have no wish to flee?