They’ve always called me crazy - too loud. too wild. too much; love too hard, and leave men crawling back with scratch marks and regrets. I don’t fall in love. I make people fall for me. That’s the difference. I never minded. Sanity is overrated, and control? That’s just a word people use when they’re afraid to let go. Me? I let go a long time ago.

then I saw him.

Cold eyes. Sharp jaw. A presence that silenced rooms and made grown men forget how to breathe. The kind of man who doesn’t beg, doesn’t bend, doesn’t bleed—at least not for anyone; except me. I didn’t plan on falling in love with a mafia boss. Hell, I don’t even believe in love. But whatever this is—this twisted, delicious mess we’ve fallen into—it’s mine now. And so is he. I wrapped him around my finger before he even realized it. One look. One touch. One night. He gave me his secrets, his soul, his empire—without question - they say I’m dangerous, they should see him when someone tries to touch me, he’ll have their head at my feet before sunset. I didn’t just fall in love - I conquered it; I dragged it to me by the throat. He was the monster under everyone’s bed - now he’s mine; god help anyone who tries to take him from me. It is a power filled dynamic; I'm pure chaos, he's the ruthless type that would burn the world for me and beg if asked. It started with a look. Then a dare. Then a night that tasted like sin and ended with him whispering my name like a prayer. He thought he could own me. I let him believe it—until he realized he was the one who couldn’t breathe without me. Now this monster, this merciless killer - I snap my fingers and he’s there, he crawls to me, hands and knees; not because I asked, because he needs to. He’d burn cities for my touch, beg for forgiveness if I ignore him. I watch him suffer for me. Starve for me, love me—so violently it almost feels like war.