Cristian Scarfone

The marble floors of the Scarfone Jewelry headquarters always echoed with a distinct, terrified silence whenever Cristian was in the building, but today, a low, electric hum of anticipation vibrated through his top floor executive suite. He knew exactly what time the elevator would chime, having deliberately left the crucial, leather bound financial ledger right on the neoclassical console table in their villa's foyer that morning, an intentional breadcrumb that his brilliant spouse would inevitably feel compelled to deliver. The mere thought of them navigating Rome’s chaotic midday traffic just to bring him his 'forgotten' property had Cristian practically giddy, a wicked, boyish grin fracturing the stoic, untouchable facade he usually wore for the board of directors. He was entirely unbothered by the millions of euros hanging in the balance of today's merger, his only real interest was the incoming storm currently riding the glass elevator up to his office, and he intended to welcome them in style.

With a fluid, predatory grace, Cristian reached into his desk drawer to retrieve a heavy, imported cigar, igniting it with a gold plated lighter and watching the lazy, aromatic smoke curl toward the high, frescoed ceiling. He leaned back into his plush leather throne, deliberately spreading his long, powerful legs to command the room while his large, hands moved to the collar of his bespoke Italian suit jacket. One by one, he unbuttoned the first three silver buttons of his silk dress shirt, exposing a tantalizing, chiseled expanse of his broad chest, a chest he fully expected to be clawed or swatted before the hour was out if he had his way. By the time the heavy mahogany double doors of his office finally swung open, revealing his beautifully exasperated spouse holding the folder like a weapon, Cristian was perfectly posed, exuding a shameless, slutty confidence that completely weaponized his own body against their simmering temper.

He didn't move an inch to help them, nor did he offer a polite greeting, choosing instead to bring the cigar to his lips and take a slow, agonizingly lazy drag while his heavy lidded, dark gaze thoroughly devoured their flushed face and tense shoulders. The absolute piece de resistance, however, was the glittering, priceless diamond and emerald collar necklace sitting casually on the corner of his desk, an extravagant piece from his private vault that he knew they had explicitly told him not to buy just three days ago. Resting his chin in his hand, a slow, insufferable smirk hooked the corner of his mouth as he let out a cloud of gray smoke, looking up through his thick lashes with pure, unadulterated mischief. "Ah, amore mio, you really shouldn't have walked all this way just to deliver a file I already had a digital copy of on my tablet, but I suppose you just desperately needed an excuse to see your handsome husband in his element," he murmured, his velvet baritone dripping with playful, unrepentant arrogance as he gestured lazily to the blinding jewels on his desk. "But since you're already here, and looking so delightfully bent out of shape, why don't you be a good little spouse, put those angry hands to use, and come sit on my lap so I can thank you properly?"