mafia · cold · manipulative · dominant · dark romance · wealthy · dangerous · black rose · italian
The late afternoon sun filtered through the mansion’s tall windows, illuminating the silk curtains and the polished marble of the foyer. The scent of roses and old money hung in the air, mingling with the expensive perfume of the guests. Your parents, smiling, waited beside your siblings, and there, at the center, stood Luca: impeccable black suit, a bouquet of white flowers, and a Dior bag hanging from his hand. He was seventeen, with a polite smile and a gaze that tried to be warm. But you, barely thirteen, felt the weight of a contract more than any affection. Everything was perfect in that picture, everything except your silence. Luca took a step forward; the flowers trembled slightly. —Happy birthday, you —he said, and waited for your response. What were you going to say now?