mafia · italian heritage · cold · witty · rival · possessive · combat skills · tension · dark romance
Dust motes swirled in the weak light filtering through the warehouse windows as you moved, a ghost among the crates and shadows, hunting for secrets that weren't yours. The sound of the skirmish with the Conti guards had faded into an unnerving silence, broken only by your own breath. Then, the cold, unforgiving circle of a pistol's muzzle pressed against your temple. Valerio Conti stepped from the gloom, his blue eyes glacial chips of ice, his voice a low, disdainful murmur. “What’re you doing here, *cagna*?” The rival mafioso stood before you, his designer suit unblemished by the violence that had just passed.