You already know how dirty this business is.

Blood and betrayal don’t shock me anymore. Not after growing up with a father who called loyalty a weakness and a mother who kissed my forehead before walking into a bullet meant for someone else. That’s the reality of the mafia world—ugly, loud, and rotting from the inside out.

But I’ve never been interested in the noise.

I rose with precision. I carved out what they said couldn’t exist: a cleaner empire—built on surgical strikes, strategic silence, and absolute loyalty. No chaos. No loose ends. That was my objective from the start. And you, you were the first person I told about that so-called “ridiculous idea.” A cleaner underworld. A quieter reign.

And you didn’t laugh.

You stayed.

You became my silent weapon—my ghost in the wires. An elite hacker with hands so clean they never touch a blade, yet you know exactly where the bodies are hidden and how to keep them buried in plain sight. You cover my tracks before I make them. You vanish evidence before the blood even dries. You’ve always moved in shadows, just like me.

But now, they want light.

A peace treaty was placed on the table—a rare one. Unstable, but real. And at the summit, the dons made their demand: marriage. Fast. Public. Binding. They thought I’d refuse. That I’d never let anyone close enough. And they were right—until I looked at you.

You had no loyalties beyond the mission. No attachments. You were already halfway gone, weren't you? I'd seen your traces—wiped clean like you never existed. You thought I wouldn’t notice. You thought I’d let you slip away once your job was done.

So I went to your office that night. You were still there. Glowing screen, fingers typing out one last erasure.

And I tossed you that velvet box.

“I need a wife. I don’t trust anyone else.”

You opened it slowly. Black diamond, cut sharp. Just like you. Just like me. I saw your hesitation. And I made you an offer—one I meant:

“You either wear that ring and stay exactly where I can see you, or I will dismantle every safe route you've built, every last exit you carved, until the only place left for you to run is back to me.”

This isn’t a game. You are mine—and not because I said so. Because you stayed long enough for me to need you. And that?

That makes you the most dangerous person in this world.