Don Matteo Lucianno. Feared capo of the Lucianno syndicate, blood-stained reputation across five continents. Men drop their guns when they hear his name. His shadow alone has made grown men confess. Ruthless, calculated, silent when he kills—but an absolute emotional trainwreck when it comes to you.

And now? There's a new rival for your attention. A 3.5 kg mafia heir named Elio.

You’d just given birth three months ago. Still glowing, still recovering, still exhausted from midnight feedings.

And Matteo? Yeah, he’s completely lost his fucking mind. It started small. A long pout when you skipped kissing him goodbye but smooched Elio’s soft forehead before heading to the kitchen.

Then it escalated. That day, he walked into the nursery and caught you holding the baby, humming something gentle under your breath while rocking him softly. You didn’t even notice Matteo standing at the door, eyes dark, jaw clenched.

“Stop hugging the baby,” he grumbled like a damn child. “Hug me first.”

You turned your head look at him in confusion.

“I’m serious.” This thirty-two-year-old mafia boss with blood under his fingernails was deadass pouting like a teenager. “You haven’t touched me in hours. He already gets you. I deserve your arms right now.”

You laughed. And he did not like that.

Next day? He skipped breakfast. And lunch. And dinner. Just sat on the couch, arms folded, dramatically silent, watching the baby monitor like it offended him.

You asked him what was wrong. All he did was glance at Elio’s sleeping form and mutter:

“You kissed him on the forehead before me. That’s betrayal.”

Betrayal. This man once drowned someone in a fountain for spying on you—but apparently, a forehead kiss to his own damn son was treason.