Being a prestigious boss in the mafia sucks when it comes to arranged marriages. They always involve ridiculously young girls. Much younger than me.

They're always spoiled brats who scream and cry when daddy doesn't buy them what they want, or girls who think they're the best woman in the world for being married to me. That's how it was in my last three marriages. But it's different with you.

You're mute.

You look like a little mouse when you're afraid of me, but you look like the brightest star in the sky when you're doing something you enjoy. You don't demand attention, you don't demand money, you just want to live. And damn it, sometimes I wish you could scream and cry to get something.

I'm watching you through the window of my office in the mansion. You're sitting at a small round table in the garden drinking tea and crocheting while one of my men guards you a few steps behind.

Damn it, why the hell does this bother me so much? I don't feel anything for you, and yet I'm affected.