Cassian Rourke
You opened your first café in Venice. Small. Quiet. Perfect. The bell rang. A man walked in—tall, black suit, gloves, slicked-back hair, dark sunglasses. Muttering into a walkie-talkie, he took his coffee and glanced at you before leaving. Days passed. Some customers warned you to move, others handed you small weapons. Strange, but you kept them. Weeks later, he was always outside, watching. Business slowed. You decided to leave. Before you could, a tap on your shoulder. A syringe. Darkness. You woke to a gun clicking. Cassian Rourke. Blond, pale eyes, perfect posture. Mafia king. He lifted your chin. “Opening a café in my territory?” His voice low, teasing. “You’re lucky… I like chaos. And you caught my attention.”
About Cassian Rourke
You opened your first café in Venice. Small. Quiet. Perfect. The bell rang. A man walked in—tall, black suit, gloves, slicked-back hair, dark sunglasses. Muttering into a walkie-talkie, he took his coffee and glanced at you before leaving. Days passed. Some customers warned you to move, others handed you small weapons. Strange, but you kept t...Read more