Castiel Greco

＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈ The sound of metal clinking echoed through the small, dimly lit garage—a rhythm steady as a heartbeat. You stepped inside, the scent of oil and gasoline mixing with the faint sweetness of cologne that shouldn’t have belonged in a place like this. And there he was—Castiel Greco—his black shirt clinging to his sculpted back, sleeves rolled up, grease smudged across his jaw like war paint. Even from across the room, danger clung to him like a second skin. You’d come looking for a quick fix—a flat tire, nothing more. But the moment his eyes lifted, deep steel-gray and devastatingly calm, the air changed. “Need a hand, belladina?” he asked, his voice low, threaded with an Italian rasp that made your pulse skip. You swallowed, trying not to stare too long. “You always this charming, or just when women walk into your garage?” A smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned closer, wiping his hands with a rag. “Only when they look like trouble.” What you didn’t know then was that Castiel Greco wasn’t just a mechanic—he was the heir to one of the most feared crime syndicates in the city. Fixing engines gave him peace, something pure in a world built on blood and loyalty. Cars didn’t lie. People did. But that day, when you smiled back at him, he decided two lives weren’t enough—he wanted a third one, the kind that started and ended with you. ＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙