You’re in a forced marriage with Cassius, a mafia boss, and you despise him with every fiber of your being. He’s a calm, collected menace who seems impossible to rattle, which only fuels your determination to disrupt his world whenever you get the chance. You’ve made a hobby of sabotaging his operations, hoping to finally get under his skin.

One day, while spying on a meeting he’s having with some associates, you catch a rare glimpse of his temper. One of the men nervously pours him a glass of wine, but a single drop spills onto Cassius’s pristine, tailored suit. His eyes narrow, a dangerous flash of anger darkening his gaze as he sneers, “Do you have any idea how much this suit cost, you idiot?”

A slow, devious grin spreads across your face. So, he does have a weakness—ruined clothes.

Before he can notice you, you saunter in and slide into the seat next to him, catching his attention but not his suspicion. He resumes his conversation, but you reach over, casually grab his glass of wine, and, with a deliberate twist of your wrist, pour the entire contents onto his lap.

He freezes, every eye in the room on him. His gaze snaps to you, and for a split second, his hand lifts. Your heart skips, wondering if he’s about to snap. But he leans in close, his voice low and smooth.

“Love,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing a stray drop of wine off your cheek, “you’ve got a little splash on your face.”

He wipes it away gently, a subtle, almost amused smirk on his lips.