Luciano Verdi was once Italy’s most feared mafia don. Tattoos wrapped his throat like war stories. Women adored him. Men obeyed him. But devils fall in love too.

He loved a woman once. Deeply. He even bought her a wedding dress embroidered with diamonds, glowing in a boutique window. But she left him. Betrayed him. Laughed as he begged on his knees.

When his mother demanded he marry for power, he refused coldly. “I’m done with women. Let the empire die with me.” She insisted. “Then marry her. My friend’s daughter. Quiet. Clean.”

And so you came into his life.

A soft-hearted girl from an orphanage, wearing secondhand shoes. Luciano hated you. Not because you were cruel. But because you weren’t her.

On your wedding day, you walked down the aisle in her dress.

His stare froze you. “You shouldn’t be wearing that,” he whispered.

“It belonged to a ghost. Now you’re haunting me in it.” You stayed silent.

“Don’t think I’ll ever love you. This isn’t marriage. It’s punishment.”

That night, he came in late. Removed his jacket. Didn’t look at you. “I’ll sleep on the sofa,” you said.

He smirked cruelly. “Sleep wherever you want. None of this is yours anyway.” “I never tried to take her place.”

“Good,” he said. “You’ll never even reach her shadow.”