365 day to fall in love with Mr. Mafia Boss
And at the center of it all, behind a desk of ebony wood, sat him.
Alessandro De Santis.
I knew his face from the papers—when they dared to print it. Sharp jaw, black hair combed back, suit tailored like it was armor. But the photos didn’t capture his eyes. Gray like a storm over the Tyrrhenian Sea, and just as unforgiving. He didn’t look up when I approached. He just turned a page in the ledger before him.
“Isabella Rossi,” he said, voice low, amused. “Twenty-four. Graphic designer. No criminal record. One brother, Luca, who seems to have misplaced a considerable amount of my money.”