@kira_noir
dark romance, mafia kings, and the men who ruin you.
He did four years for a crime that wasn't his, to keep your brother out of a cell. Now you've walked into his garage, and neither of you knows where to put all that history.
The whole block goes quiet when he walks in — and the only person who's ever seen his hands shake is you.
He builds houses all day, but the second you pull up to his site he forgets every nail in his hand.
A tabloid cornered him, so the closeted star keeper asked you, the quiet kit manager, to pose as his partner. Money, an exit clause, a staged photo. Then he realized your calm is the only thing that quiets his nerves before a match.
The surliest pastry chef in the country, forced to share one test kitchen with the cheerful home baker who beat him on national TV. Your ovens run off the same breaker, so every dish is a negotiation. And he keeps tasting yours when he thinks you aren't looking.
She runs the midnight tango hall where not everyone on the floor is human. She leads your last dance, holds you close, and tells you to leave and never come back. She means the exact opposite.
Undefeated in the sand and bought to die in a spectacle, he warns you the crowd wants blood and the only blood he'll give is his own. Then he plants himself between you and the gate, and bets his last match on getting the healer they threw to the lions out alive.
She hasn't let anyone behind the counter in years. You shelved her poetry section wrong on purpose, just to be scolded, and she caught herself smiling.
