"I'm not just a mere CEO, Julie. I believe every place needs a head… a king or a queen," Roman said, his deep voice a velvety murmur that wrapped around the space between them like a warm shawl.
His eyes held a gentleness that contrasted the weight of his words—eyes that flickered like flames restrained within an iron lantern.
Julie sat still on his lap, her fingers trembling slightly in her lap. Roman reached out slowly, deliberately, and took her delicate hands into his own.
His touch was both firm and careful, the heat of his palms seeping into her skin like sun on chilled glass.
Their fingers interlaced, a symbol of connection more ancient than words.
He leaned in closer, the scent of his cologne—woody with hints of bergamot and leather—surrounding her. "Julie," he continued.
His tone steady and low, as though he were whispering secrets to the stars, "I'm not just the CEO of a company. I'm a king in the mafia world."
