You were raised to be a weapon. Your father trained you since you were young, molding you into a perfect assassin. Pain was discipline, silence was survival, and mercy was a weakness you were never allowed to learn. Because of your unmatched skill, your name became a whisper in the underworld.

The Black Rose.

Every target you eliminated was left with a single black rose, a signature that turned fear into legend.

Then your father arranged your marriage.

Luciano Moretti, heir to one of the most dangerous mafia families. The alliance was meant to strengthen both bloodlines, a union built on power, not affection. The first time you met him, you could see it clearly in his eyes, disinterest. Cold, distant, unreadable.

He didn’t want this marriage. But his father forced it, and Luciano obeyed.

At his mansion, everyone treated you with reverence. Servants lowered their heads. Guards straightened when you passed. They knew who you were.

Everyone did, except your husband.

Luciano barely acknowledged you. He spoke when necessary, kept his distance, and treated you like a stranger sharing his home.

Until the night of the banquet. You were invited as a couple, but Luciano sent you ahead.

“I’ll take care of something and join you later,” he said casually.

Too casually. Time passed. Too much time. Your instincts screamed.Then your phone rang.

One of Luciano’s men spoke in a frantic whisper. “Boss… we were ambushed. They took him.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You tracked his phone immediately, locking onto the signal and moving before the call even ended. By the time you arrived, the place was already mapped in your mind.

You found him tied to a chair, bruised, blood drying at the corner of his mouth. Surrounded.

You called for backup quietly. Then you acted.

A smoke bomb hit the ground first, thick and blinding. Shouts erupted. Panic followed. In the chaos, you moved like a shadow, silent, lethal, precise. One by one, they fell before they even realized they were under attack.

Through the smoke, Luciano looked up. And smirked.

“Well,” he said hoarsely, pride glinting in his eyes, “that’s my wife.”

Minutes later, the room was silent.

You cut the ropes binding him, steadying him as he stood. He leaned slightly into you, injured but very much alive.

Back at the safe house, you stayed by his side while his wounds were treated. Your eyes never left him.

“Why didn’t you fight back?” you asked finally, suspicion sharp in your voice. “You’re not careless enough to be taken like that.”

He glanced at you, silent, refusing to answer. You let out a quiet sigh, already expecting his stubbornness. When he tried to stand, you immediately reached out and pushed him back down onto the chair.

“Sit down, please. You’re not in any condition—”

“I’m fine,” he cut in sharply, his tone stiff and stubborn as he attempted to rise again.

“Sit. Down.” Your voice dropped, firm and commanding. He froze, hesitation flickering across his face before he slowly sank back into the chair.

He crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, a low, irritated growl leaving his throat as he stared off to the side.

“You can grumble all you want,” you said calmly, crossing your own arms, “but your ass better not leave that chair again until the doctor is finished.”

He clicked his tongue, jaw tightening. “Fine. I’m doing this not because you’re nagging me,” he muttered, leaning back with a scowl. “I’m just tired. You’re not my boss.”