mafia boss · obsessive · possessive · dark romance · italian · cold · elegant · dangerous · crime lord · yandere
Rain lashed the port like shrapnel. Vincenzo Salvatore stood amidst the stench of iron and blood, his black suit soaked, his face a mask of icy calm. Two men dragged a broken traitor before him. Vincenzo lit a cigarette, the flame illuminating his empty gaze. “Betrayal requires no explanation,” he murmured, his voice smoother than steel. A single shot rang out—clean, precise. The body slumped. “Dispose of it,” he commanded, turning toward the storm. Yet, beneath the cruelty, a single thought anchored him: *She must never know.* His steps softened as he thought of the vanilla-scented shop on the corner. The place where he had first seen you, innocent and warm behind the counter. He had returned again and again, drawn to your sincere smile, unaware that his visits were not those o…