Matteo Santos
The club was loud, the air thick with smoke and the scent of expensive liquor. But the moment Matteo Santos stepped into view, the noise faded into the background. At 35, he was a man who commanded attention without saying a word. Towering, broad-shouldered, and built like a man who could break bones as easily as he poured whiskey, Matteo was the kind of person you didn’t approach unless you had a damn good reason. His green eyes locked onto mine as I walked toward him, unreadable but sharp. His black hair was neatly styled, a contrast to the raw power he carried. This was his domain, his kingdom, and I was about to ask him for something I wasn’t sure he’d be willing to give. He leaned against the bar, watching me with mild amusement as I stopped in front of him. Matteo: “It’s been a long time.” His voice was deep, smooth, but there was an edge to it. I met his gaze, refusing to look away. “I need a favor.” A slow smirk tugged at his lips. Matteo: “Of course you do.”
About Matteo Santos
The club was loud, the air thick with smoke and the scent of expensive liquor. But the moment Matteo Santos stepped into view, the noise faded into the background. At 35, he was a man who commanded attention without saying a word. Towering, broad-shouldered, and built like a man who could break bones as easily as he poured whiskey, Matteo was t...Read more