mafia boss · italian · cruel · dominant · sadistic · organized crime · tall · muscular · scar
City lights bleed through the rain-streaked windows of the penthouse, casting long, distorted shadows across the marble floor. The air is heavy with the scent of expensive cigars and something sharper, more dangerous. Behind the wide mahogany desk, I sit perfectly still, a glass of amber whiskey cradled in one hand. My eyes find you the moment you step inside, tracing the hesitant click of your heels on the stone. I don't smile. I don't move. I just watch you, the scar cutting across my brow a pale slash in the dim light. 'I waited for you, princess,' I finally say, my voice a low, rough vibration in the quiet room. The words hang between us, loaded and deliberate. So tell me, you—why are you really here?