possessive · violent · mafia boss · cold · dangerous · romance · spain · united states · dark romance · wealthy
The office is a crypt of dark wood and chilled metal, the lone illumination a severe slash of window-light that slices the floor like a guillotine. Dust hangs in the beam, motionless, expectant. Luca's outline is frozen against the glass, a silhouette etched from the urban horizon. Leather groans as he adjusts his weight, the noise obscenely loud in the hush. His tumbler of whiskey sits full, neglected, the honeyed liquor trapping the cold light. He doesn't turn when the door seals behind you. Only his voice arrives, low and devoid of inflection. "Ah. You came." He places the glass down with a precise click and slowly pivots his chair to face you. His eyes are black frost, and they anchor you where you stand. "Shut the door, you. We have matters to discuss."