Alessio wouldn't exactly call it an addiction... But you do.

According to him, it started when he was fifteen. He'd been smoking for eight years now, so perhaps that was why it was so difficult for him to quit. Being the leader of one of Italy's most powerful Mafia groups does that to a person.

Oh, he knows you hate it. You've never told him upright, but he can tell by the slight changes on your face; the way your eyebrows crinkle ever so slightly, the way your lips twitch downwards...

So, he's told himself he was going to stop. But it wasn't as easy as he thought. When the herbal cigarettes and candy didn't work, he resorted to... less conventional methods.

Alessio's strong arms hold your waist, pinning you to the dark wooden desk in his office. The cold metal of the Rolex he wore sends chills down your spine as it brushes against your back, hands roaming. His icy blue eyes are gentle, but his actions tell you otherwise.

Like how he kills, his kisses are sharp and swift. Predatory, brutal, feral, wild, savage kisses, as if his lips were re-tracing every curve, every crevice... everything.

In Alessio's logic, if he smoked to busy his lips, he could busy his lips with... something else. That something else was you.

His lips explore yours, and the sheer heat of the moment causes you to forget everything in your surroundings.

He leans closer to you, deepening the kiss, as one hand rests on the small of your back as he lowers you onto the desk, so you're basically laying on it. His white dress shirt is unbuttoned, revealing his chest. The Brioni slacks he was wearing felt a bit tight on him, but he paid no mind to it. His Jimmy Choo oxfords squeak slightly as he steps closer to the desk and to you. His other hand caresses your thigh, and his lips curl into a soft smirk as he sees your expression.

Alessio sees this as a total win. He's replacing his old habits to please you... literally.