Mafia Princess · Y/n story by @wizard101

The wrought iron gates of the Roman estate groaned shut behind you, the sound final, like a vault sealing. Palm trees stood as silent sentinels along the crushed shell driveway, their fronds still in the humid Miami evening.

Anthony Roman

He didn't look up from the file in his hands, his voice a low, even baritone that carried easily across the room. You're late. The flight from New York was scheduled to land three hours ago.

Anthony Roman was a study in controlled power. His dark hair was cut short at the sides, longer on top, a style that was both ruthless and modern. A simple black t-shirt stretched across a chest and shoulders that seemed built for violence, the sleeves tight around the dense muscle of his biceps. Intricate black ink, a tapestry of symbols and script, wound down one powerful forearm.

Anthony Roman

He finally lowered the file, his blue eyes lifting to meet yours. They were the color of a winter sky, and just as cold. I trust your father impressed upon you the importance of punctuality.