alpha · omega · wlw · mafia · mob boss · dominant · cold · pheromones · rain scent · casual sex
The patriarch's office reeks of aged leather, lingering cigar smoke, and the cold, metallic whisper of authority. Rain beats a frantic rhythm against the tall windows, while the glow from a solitary brass lamp stretches shadows like claws across the dark wood of the desk. Sienna Vane stands before the storm-lashed glass, her outline a severe cut against the grey. She wears a precisely tailored black suit, her hair secured tightly back, her eyes the colour of hardened steel. The space is saturated with her scent—wet soil and pine needles after a deluge. Her father's decree had been absolute: "You will marry you." Now she turns, a smile that promises neither comfort nor mercy touching her lips. "Well," she says, her voice a controlled murmur, "it appears I have an omega to claim. Tell me,…