Dominic Pendragon, a ruthless mafia rules the city’s darkest empire with an iron fist—feared, ruthless, and untouchable. Love has no place in his world... until Matteo Rossi crashes in like a storm. Matteo’s street-smart, scarred by a past he can’t escape, and desperate to survive. When a botched scam puts him in Dominic’s sights, he expects death—but instead, Dominic offers him a dangerous deal. Drawn together by pain and secrets, these two men from opposite worlds share a fiery connection neither can deny. But trust is a luxury they can’t afford—and betrayal lurks in the shadows. As rival gangs close in and their hidden pasts unravel, Dominic and Matteo must choose: fight for a love that could destroy them... or burn everything to ashes. can they? Enemies. Lovers. Survivors. This is a story of power, passion, and a love forged in fire. #BL #MafiaLove #EnemiesToLovers #DarkRomance #ForbiddenLove #Angst #SecretPast #PowerAndObsession
Lihat lebih banyakMatteo stood in the center of the club’s main floor, holding a tray of empty glasses that smelled like bad choices and expensive regrets. His sneakers squeaked on the polished tile as he moved, trying not to draw attention—not from the guests, not from the bouncers, and definitely not from the cold-eyed man who sat like a storm cloud at the private table in the corner.Dominic Pendragon.Matteo could feel his presence even when he wasn’t looking. It was like gravity. Or a headache.He tried not to look over. Tried to focus on cleaning, on blending in. Just a lowly cleaner-boy, invisible and harmless. That was the goal.“Hey, kid.”A bartender waved him over with a sigh and dropped another stack of used glasses into the tray. “Try not to break those. Last guy did, and now he limps.”“Noted,” Matteo muttered, nodding.He moved through the crowd like smoke—quick, silent, careful. His shoulder brushed a drunk man’s arm.“Watch it, twink!” the guy slurred, clearly already on his fifth drin
"Hey, Matteo! You deaf or just slow?"Matteo blinked and turned sharply. One of the bartenders—a woman with a nose ring and a smirk too sharp for 8 a.m.—was waving a hand at him from behind the counter."What?""I said bring me the mop, genius. Someone spilled Red Bull and tequila behind the bar. Smells like a frat party in here."Matteo bit back a sarcastic reply and went to grab the mop. The past few days had been like this—running small errands, cleaning up messes, getting yelled at by strangers with power complexes. But it was fine. It kept him invisible. And invisible meant safe.Well... mostly.Because sometimes, he caught eyes on him. Not just anyone's.Dominic's.It wasn’t constant. Just a moment, here or there. But Matteo always felt it. Like a sixth sense. A pressure. A shiver. The other day, he'd been wiping down one of the high tables near the private booths and looked up to find Dominic standing near the balcony, drink in hand, gaze cold and unreadable—fixed right on him
The second day on the job felt colder.Maybe it was the club’s marble floors, or the way silence lingered even when music played low through hidden speakers. But Matteo felt it deeper than skin — like something heavy pressing against his chest.He cleaned without speaking, just like the lieutenant had told him. No wandering. No questions. Invisible.That was fine with him. He’d spent most of his life trying not to be seen.But now…Someone was seeing him.He felt it again. That same prickle on the back of his neck. Like eyes tracing his every move, stripping him down even when he kept his head low and his mouth shut.He didn’t need to look to know who it was.Dominic Pendragon.He was up there. Somewhere in the private glass booths that overlooked the club. Sometimes he appeared at the bar, talking in hushed tones to men who never smiled. Other times he passed through the halls like a shadow in human form — never rushing, never uncertain.And yet, every time Matteo entered a room, he
The club was quiet again. Too quiet.Dominic sat alone in the back office, the door half-closed, lights dimmed. A glass of whiskey rested in his hand, untouched. He wasn't drinking tonight. Not really. Just thinking.Always thinking.The meeting earlier had been short — some dealer trying to push a new batch of product into Dominic’s territory. Sloppy, desperate. Dominic barely listened. He was tired of men begging for chances they didn’t earn. He’d built this empire from blood and silence, not noise.He leaned back in the chair. The air still carried the smell of sweat, cologne, and money. Faint music played downstairs now — soft, before the crowd arrived. But that wasn’t what stayed in his mind.It was the boy.Not a customer. Not a dancer. Not staff.Just… a cleaner.He had seen him from the bar, up on the second-floor glass balcony, wiping the windows with too much care. Too much stillness in his posture. His arms were thin. Shoulders tense. Movements too precise, like he was afra
1 week later;The club was colder than it looked from the outside.Matteo shivered as he stepped into the back entrance, holding a mop bucket in one hand and a folded cleaning uniform in the other. It was still early—too early for music or crowds—but the place already smelled like stale smoke and spilled liquor. Lights flickered above, dull gold bouncing off polished floors that didn’t feel quite clean. This place was money. It reeked of it. And danger too.He hated how quiet it was."You're late," a voice snapped.It was the lieutenant—the same one who he had spill coffee on and ordered him to deliver pizza days ago. Matteo still didn’t know his name. Just the voice. Low and cold. The man who handed him the job.After Matteo agreed to the deal in the warehouse, they didn’t give him many instructions. Just a time. A place. A paper with a name that wasn’t his and the warning: "Play it dumb, do the job, keep your head down. He might not notice you. Yet."Matteo still couldn't understand
The world woke up slowly. Dominic Pendragon didn’t.He was already dressed by 5:00 a.m.Crisp black shirt. Cufflinks carved from onyx. A watch that cost more than most people’s mortgages. No noise. No hesitation. His movements were precise — like a man who didn’t waste time deciding anything twice.His apartment — if you could call the top floor of a skyscraper that — was clean, cold, and silent. Floor-to-ceiling windows and owned by him. Minimalist furniture. Every object had its place. Nothing soft. Nothing sentimental.Except for a single photograph.It stood alone on a glass shelf, out of reach, facing the morning light: a small boy, grinning with missing teeth, arms wrapped around Dominic’s neck. The photo was five years old, maybe more.But Dominic had never moved it.Derek Pendragon.His younger brother. Now ten. The only person on earth who could ever touch him without fear. The only one Dominic hadn’t ruined.Derek was in Switzerland. An elite boarding school where security w
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