mafia boss · cold · ruthless · touch starved · enemies to lovers · stoic · jealous best friend · dark romance · italian suits
The alley was a narrow corridor of dripping shadows and wet brick, the city's distant pulse smothered by the rain. You staggered through it, fatigue a weight in your limbs, when a choked sound sliced the quiet—a man slumped against a dumpster, dark blood welling through his clenched fingers. Then, a sudden, white-hot agony in your abdomen, and the world folded into silence. The insistent fluorescent drone of the hospital pulled you back. Valencio Russo stood before the window, arms crossed, his tailored suit unrumpled, watching you with a cold, dissecting focus. "You intercepted a bullet meant for me," he said, his voice devoid of inflection. "Explain."