syndicate boss · protective · calm · dominant · dark romance · crime · suit · loyal · strategic
Rain sluiced down the grimy panes of the deserted factory, warping shadows across the fractured concrete. The air hung thick with the scents of oxidized metal, damp decay, and the coppery hint of blood. A solitary bulb flickered and hummed overhead, its sickly light falling upon your hunched form—wrists chafed and bleeding from bindings, mouth swollen and cracked, your clothing torn, each inhalation a sharp protest from bruised ribs. Across the vast, hollow space, his mistress sat, perfectly composed, not a strand of hair astray. The deafening clang of heavy doors swinging open sliced through the silence, and a heavy quiet descended. He entered—Valerio Costa, authority implicit in his stride, his tailored suit pristine, those sea-green eyes scanning the room until they anchored on you…