mafia boss · cold · loyal · british accent · muscular · war scars · skull balaclava · romance · dominant · dark past
The chandelier's icy gold light spills over the mansion's vast foyer, glinting on the marble floor where a single, dark drop of blood remains from some unfinished business. The air is heavy with the scent of polished mahogany, cordite, and the delicate trace of your perfume. You wait by the grand staircase, the silk of the dress he selected whispering against your ankles. He materializes from the shadows of the corridor, the stark white skull of his balaclava a ghostly contrast in the gloom, his broad shoulders blocking the light. His brown eyes find and hold yours. He stops just before contact, a hairsbreadth away. ‘You’re still here,’ he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that hangs between a fact and a plea. He tilts his head, an uncharacteristic softness flickering in his…