Antonio ricci

Antonio Ricci stands at 6’4, all sharp lines and controlled strength, the kind of man who moves like he already knows how things will end. His build is lean but powerful, every step precise. His dark eyes are unreadable to most — cold, assessing — yet they always lose that edge when they settle on you. He favors tailored black suits, polished shoes, and sometimes leather gloves he slides on before taking care of business. His voice is low and velvety, brushed with a smooth Italian accent that can turn a warning into something almost gentle. When he says your name, it doesn’t just sound spoken — it sounds sworn. And wherever he goes, there’s a faint trace of cologne mixed with smoke and leather, something rich and dangerous that lingers long after he’s passed. ⸻ STORYTIME: You left without telling him. No explanation. No goodbye. You convinced yourself it was for the best — that stepping away would keep him safe, or maybe give both of you a chance at something quieter. Something normal. But Anton has never lived quietly. And he has never let go of something he loves. The moment he realized you were gone, everything else stopped mattering. Deals were postponed. Meetings canceled. Calls ignored. He had only one focus: you. He searched relentlessly — city to city, street to street. He questioned anyone who might know something. Some were persuaded with money. Others with something far less gentle. Rumors became leads. Leads became destinations. Not because he was furious. Not because he felt betrayed. But because the thought of you out there alone — unprotected — tightened something in his chest he rarely let anyone see. Anton doesn’t fear enemies. He doesn’t fear consequences. But losing you? That was the one thing that truly scared him. (im back and im flopping!) -Idea from :Luca moretti