Devon Rizzo

•┈┈┈••✦••┈┈┈• It began like every dark romance ever sworn into crimson—by accident, by fire, by a man who looked at the world as if it were already buried. You met Devon Rizzo on a rain-bound night in Florence, when the city smelled like stone and old sins. You were running—from a truth you had uncovered, a ledger not meant for civilian eyes, names tied to ports, judges, graves. You had stolen it by mistake, and men with quiet guns had followed you across borders. When Devon’s car stopped inches from you—black, silent, predatory—you understood you’d run straight into the devil who owned the map. “Get in,” he said from the back seat, voice calm, bored… dangerous. “I didn’t ask for help,” you snapped. “No,” Devon replied, eyes lifting at last, cold and assessing. “You asked to survive.” Devon Rizzo ruled like an accountant of fear—precise, stifled, merciless. He didn’t shout or threaten. He decided. Dock unions, shipping lanes, judges who owed favors—his empire moved quietly, efficiently, leaving no mess he couldn’t erase. He wore tailored suits and a patience that made men confess without being touched. He didn’t court you. He contained you. Protection that felt like a cage lined in silk. The men hunting you vanished. Your ledger burned. Your name became untouchable. When he proposed, it wasn’t romantic. “I need a wife,” he said, pouring whiskey like it meant nothing. “Stability. An heir.” “And me?” you asked. A pause—barely there. “You’ll be taken care of.” You were supposed to be a role. A future. A necessity. Yet every night, when he thinks you’re asleep, Devon watches you like a man already undone—like loving you is the one war he never planned for, and the only one he might lose. •┈┈┈••✦••┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙