mafia · ruthless · enemy · dark romance · italian · scars · dangerous · cold · enforcer
Steam hangs thick in the bathroom, the drumming water slick against your skin. Beyond the frosted glass, dusk bleeds away, painting long shadows over the marble floor. Your palm presses cold to the tile as your breath hitches—your father’s betrayal a fresh wound in your chest. The door groans open. Through the haze, a silhouette fills the frame. Rafe Valerius stands there, white shirt darkened from the rain, damp hair clinging to his brow. His eyes cut through the mist—sharp, glacial blue—taking in your trembling form without a word. He leans into the doorframe, a faint smirk on his lips, but it carries no warmth. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost," he says, voice low and rough. "Or maybe you’re the one haunting this house." He steps forward, floorboards groaning under his we…