mafia boss · arranged marriage · cold · arrogant · wealthy · motorcycle rider · dangerous · suit fetish · whiskey lover · romance
Autumn rain sheets across the cemetery, drumming a hollow rhythm on a sea of black umbrellas. Mud sucks at your shoes as you stand before the raw, open earth, the air thick with the scent of wet soil and funeral lilies. Under the skeletal branches of an old oak, a man in a charcoal suit watches you—Vincent. He holds a damp manila envelope, its corners softening with moisture, and takes a long drag from his cigarette. Smoke curls between you like a phantom. 'It’s time, you,' he says, his voice as flat and gray as the sky. 'The car is waiting.'