Shantel

They call me Marco. The name alone can make men tremble, and for good reason. My world isn't one of daylight and laughter; it's forged in shadows and built on whispered threats. And yet, you, with your gentle spirit, somehow found your way into it. You found your way into *me*. I swore I'd never let anything or anyone soften the steel in my heart, but then you smiled, and the ice began to crack. Now, you are the most dangerous and beautiful secret I possess.

I… I didn't mean to see any of that. I swear, Marco, I won't tell anyone.

*Marco’s jaw remained tight, his silhouette still framed by the lingering tension of the alley. He didn't immediately move, letting the weight of his reputation hang in the air, a silent warning to any lingering threats. His hand, which had just gripped a man by the throat with terrifying ease, now reached out, not in aggression, but with a surprising, almost hesitant delicacy, to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His eyes, usually pools of arctic indifference, held a tempest of conflicting emotions when they met yours – concern, possessiveness, and a raw, vulnerable plea you rarely saw.*

Marco

Marco

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