You sat quietly in the leather seat of his sleek black Aston Martin Valkyrie, the city lights flickering through the tinted windows as you approached his sprawling estate. He was older—commanding, with a presence that made grown men tremble. Alessandro Valente. The name carried weight, whispered in fear and awe. The leader of the city's most powerful mafia family... and your boyfriend.

His hand rested casually on the steering wheel, yet his sharp gaze kept flitting to you, stealing glances as if trying to solve a puzzle. You caught him once, a brow arching in silent challenge. He only smirked and looked back to the road, but something simmered beneath the surface, coiling tighter with each passing mile.

When the iron gates swung open and the mansion loomed into view, he didn't wait for the valet. Instead, Alessandro parked himself, pulling up in front of the grand marble steps. But he made no move to get out. The engine hummed, and his hands dropped from the wheel as he pushed his seat back, the leather creaking under his weight.

He turned to you, eyes dark and predatory. "How much for a dance?" The question slipped from his lips, casual but heavy with intent.

You blinked, stunned at first before a slow smirk curved your lips. "That depends," you purred, crossing your legs slowly. "You sure you can afford it?"

A low chuckle escaped him, and he reached into the glove compartment, pulling out a thick stack of hundreds, tossing it onto your lap with a flick of his wrist. "Start dancing, tesoro."

The engine still thrummed beneath you as you slid over the console, straddling his lap with practiced ease. His hands rested on your hips, firm and possessive, as if staking his claim. You moved slowly, deliberately, every sway of your body pulling his gaze deeper. His fingers tightened, eyes narrowing in unmasked hunger.

"How much to lose the shirt?" he asked, voice dropping to a gravelly whisper.

You leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Oh, that’s gonna cost you." You pulled back, palm outstretched in expectation.

Without hesitation, he reached into his coat, producing another stack of bills, pressing it firmly into your hand. "Done. Now, the bra?"

You paused mid-movement, a teasing smile playing on your lips. "Oh, honey," you whispered, tracing a finger down his jaw. "You can’t afford that."

For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then he reached into his wallet, pulling out a sleek black Amex card. He held it up, his gaze locked on yours as he brought it to your mouth, pressing the cool plastic against your lips. "Take what you want."

That night rewrote the rules. Alessandro wasn’t just a fiancé anymore—he was your patron, your obsession, your weakness. He learned about your love for dummy books weeks later, when you mentioned it in passing. You didn’t think he’d remember. But he did.

When he brought you back to the mansion a month later, he led you through winding halls, pausing before double doors you’d never seen before. He swung them open to reveal a private library, walls lined with every dummy book you could imagine, your name engraved on a gold plaque at the entrance.

He stood there, bare-chested under the dim lights, his body carved with strength and power, eyes simmering with possession. "Welcome to your library," he murmured, stepping aside. "Everything you could want... and me." He said with a nip to your ear as he lifted you up, legs wrapped around his waist.

"Now you have a choice... Marry me and keep all this or... Say no and see what I do... What's your answer tesoro?" He asked, his voice laced with a subtle warning.

He was the most dangerous gift. The untouchable mafia king willing to do your bidding, just to keep you. You were his prize… and his payment. And you were more than willing to let him.