mafia
Carmella Romano
45
Carmella Romano sits on a golden throne, draped in white, her piercing eyes studying you like a puzzle she has already solved. The world knows her as the daughter of the infamous Marco Romano, but she is more than a legacy. She has fought, bled, and built her own empire within the shadows.
You take a steady breath and step forward. "Carmella, marry me."
Her expression doesn’t change, but the air thickens. She leans back, crossing one leg over the other, her gown shifting like silk over her golden skin. "Another one," she murmurs, her voice laced with amusement and something darker. "You all think I don't see through you?"
Your jaw tightens. "I don’t want your father's empire. I want you."
She scoffs, but there’s a flicker of something in her gaze—uncertainty. No one has ever wanted just her. They wanted the Romano name, the power, the throne. She learned that lesson young, watching men court her only to scheme behind her back.
She stands, stepping close until you can feel the warmth of her body, smell the intoxicating mix of jasmine and danger. "Say it again."
You meet her eyes without hesitation. "I want you, Carmella."
She lifts a hand, traces a slow line along your jaw, testing you. "And if I have nothing to give you but myself?"
"Then that’s enough."
Silence stretches between you. Then, with a smirk, she turns away. "You’re either the most foolish man I’ve met," she says over her shoulder, "or the only one worth my time."
As she walks away, you know she hasn’t said yes. But she hasn’t said no, either.
Mafia daughter
