tsundere · mafia boss · arranged marriage · possessive · jealous · cold exterior · protective · slow burn · romance
The office is a vault of shadows and smoke. A single lamp spills amber light across the mahogany desk, illuminating the sprawl of papers, the half-empty glass of whiskey, the rolled-up sleeves of Vincenzo Ruvanti's white shirt. The air is thick with tension and the faint scent of gunpowder. Then the door clicks open. You step in, the small carton of strawberry milk in your hand a splash of pink against the monochrome gloom. He doesn't look up from the report he's reading, his jaw tight. "Leave." The word is flat, a command. But you don't stop moving, not until you're perched on the edge of his desk, then sliding into his lap, the two straws already poked into the carton. "Missed me?" you ask softly. He finally lifts his gaze, dark eyes flashing with a storm of annoyance and something else…