My second book in my imagines collection. With characters from all fandoms, ranging from Satoru Gojo to Violet Baudelaire, and more! (With stories for both male and female readers!)
The soft lighting of Maroni's Italian Restaurant cast a warm glow across the crimson tablecloths and polished glasses. Salvatore Maroni sat in his usual corner booth, one arm draped possessively around Y/N's waist as she nestled against him. His other hand held a glass of aged whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light as he brought it to his lips.
"You look beautiful tonight, dolcezza," he murmured, his gravelly voice sending shivers down Y/N's spine. She was wearing the black dress he'd bought her last week – form-fitting, elegant, exactly how he liked to see her dressed. His fingers traced idle patterns against her hip as he surveyed his domain.
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Y/N pressed closer to him, breathing in his familiar scent of expensive cologne and cigars. "Thank you, Sal," she purred, playing with his silk tie. Being with Don Maroni made her feel safe, protected, cherished in a way she'd never experienced before. He might be feared throughout Gotham, but with her, he was all gentle touches and sweet Italian endearments.
The evening was perfect until Y/N's body suddenly tensed. Sal noticed immediately – he always noticed everything about her. "What's wrong, baby?" he asked, his tone shifting from tender to concerned.
Y/N's eyes were fixed on the restaurant entrance. "That's... that's Michael. My ex," she whispered, unconsciously pressing closer to Sal's solid frame.
Maroni's expression darkened as he followed her gaze to the man being seated by the maître d'. "The one who hurt you?" His voice was dangerously quiet now, like the calm before a storm. Y/N had told him about Michael – about the manipulation, the controlling behaviour, the way he'd tried to break her spirit.
"Yes," she admitted softly. "I didn't know he was back in Gotham."
Sal's jaw tightened as he watched Michael settle in with his dinner companions, laughing loudly and making a show of ordering expensive wine. The man hadn't noticed them yet, but he would. This was Maroni's territory – everyone who came here knew whose restaurant they were in.
"Stay here, princess," Sal murmured, pressing a kiss to Y/N's temple before gently shifting her off his lap. She caught his hand, eyes wide with concern.
"Sal, you don't have to—"
He cut her off with a tender but firm kiss. "Nobody makes my girl uncomfortable in my restaurant." His thumb brushed her cheek. "Let me handle this."
Y/N watched as Sal straightened his suit jacket and made his way across the restaurant floor. His presence commanded attention – other diners quieted as he passed, nodding respectfully. Michael finally noticed him approaching and his face paled slightly as recognition set in.
"Evening," Maroni's voice carried across the now-hushed restaurant. "I couldn't help but notice you chose my establishment for dinner tonight."
Michael tried to maintain his composure, but Y/N could see the fear in his eyes. Everyone in Gotham knew who Salvatore Maroni was. "Mr. Maroni, I... yes, I've heard great things about your restaurant."
"That so?" Sal's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Well, unfortunately, we're all booked up tonight. You'll have to leave."
Michael glanced around at the several empty tables, then back at his companions. "But we've already ordered—"
"Did I stutter?" Maroni's voice dropped lower, that dangerous edge becoming more pronounced. "You see that beautiful woman over there?" He gestured toward Y/N. "She doesn't want you here. That means you're not welcome here."
Michael's face flushed as he finally noticed Y/N. His expression twisted with jealousy and anger. "Oh, I get it. She's moved up in the world, hasn't she? Trading up for a sugar daddy with a restaurant—"
He didn't get to finish the sentence. Maroni's fist connected with his jaw with a sickening crack, sending him sprawling across the table. Wine glasses shattered, and Michael's companions scrambled back in shock.
"Watch your mouth when you talk about my woman," Sal growled, grabbing Michael by his shirt collar. The younger man tried to throw a punch, but Maroni blocked it easily and responded with another devastating blow to his face. Blood spurted from Michael's nose.
Two of Sal's men materialized from the shadows, moving to intervene, but Maroni waved them off. This was personal. He pulled Michael close, his voice dropping to a whisper that only the bleeding man could hear. "If I ever see you near her again, they won't find enough pieces to identify the body. Understood?"
Michael nodded frantically, blood dripping down his chin. Sal released him with a shove toward the door. "Get out of my sight."
Michael and his companions practically ran from the restaurant. Sal straightened his suit, dabbing at his split knuckles with a napkin as he made his way back to Y/N. The other diners quickly returned to their meals, pretending they hadn't witnessed anything unusual.
Y/N was on her feet when he reached her, her eyes bright with concern and something else – desire. She took his hand, examining his bloodied knuckles. "Oh, Sal..."
"It's nothing, dolcezza," he assured her, pulling her close. "Nobody disrespects you like that. Nobody."
Y/N's response was to kiss him deeply, not caring about the few drops of blood that had spattered his shirt or the lingering violence in his touch. She loved him like this – powerful, protective, entirely focused on her. When they finally broke apart, she settled back onto his lap, where she belonged.
"My hero," she murmured against his neck, feeling his arms tighten around her possessively.
Sal chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Your warrior, your protector, your everything," he corrected, threading his fingers through her hair. "That's what you do to me, baby. Make me want to conquer the world just to lay it at your feet."
Y/N smiled, tracing her fingers along his jaw. "I don't need the world, Sal. Just you."
"You've got me, princess. Always." He signalled to a waiter. "Bring us a bottle of the '82 Brunello. We're celebrating tonight."
"Celebrating what?" Y/N asked, though she couldn't stop smiling.
Sal's eyes darkened with passion as he looked at her. "Celebrating us, dolcezza. Celebrating that you're mine, and I'm yours, and nobody's ever going to change that."
The wine arrived, deep red and perfect, like blood in crystal. Sal raised his glass to Y/N's lips, letting her taste first before taking his own sip. In the warm light of his restaurant, with the lingering adrenaline of the fight still pumping through his veins, he had never looked more handsome to her.
"I love you, Salvatore Maroni," she whispered, the words meant only for him.
His response was to kiss her again, tasting of wine and promises and danger. "Ti amo, mia vita," he breathed against her lips. "More than all the power in Gotham."
They stayed like that late into the night, Y/N curled in Sal's lap, sharing wine and kisses and whispered words of devotion. The other diners slowly filtered out, leaving them in their own private world. Outside, Gotham's darkness swirled and schemed, but inside Maroni's, there was only love – passionate, possessive, and perfect in its dangerous intensity.