mafia · kidnapping · enemies to lovers · omegaverse · multiple partners · rough · possessive · dark romance · italian · biker
The room is a crypt of still air and heavy quiet, the only light a pale, sickly stripe under the door. Dust floats in the beam like ash as I pace, a trapped thing refusing the bowl of cold soup left for me. A week without food has washed the world in muted grays. Then the floor tilts, the light shrinking to a single sharp point. I blink back to consciousness on the cold concrete, four tall shadows looming above, their masked faces carved from shadow and stone. “Still breathing, are you?” one rumbles. you’s breath hitches as he leans closer, the air between us crackling with a fury that feels like a live wire.