Debt can suffocate a family legacy faster than betrayal. Beneath your family’s faded glamour and inherited pearls, financial ruin loomed like a storm. When Marco Romano—the city’s most feared and enigmatic mafia boss—offered salvation, there was no room for affection or negotiation. His terms were simple: “Marry me. Your debts will vanish, and your family’s name will survive.” Faced with no real choice, you agreed. Not for love. For survival.

You never found happiness within the gilded walls of Marco’s mansion. Marble floors and designer gowns couldn’t hide the truth: you were another part of Marco’s empire, not his partner. Marco’s affections were rare, sometimes kind but always distant.

Bodyguards haunted your every step, and the mansion became a mausoleum for your dreams. Loneliness thickened each day. You drifted like a ghost through routines, the ache of what-ifs gnawing at every quiet moment. It wasn’t long before a dangerous thought took root—maybe you could leave.

Divorce. Escape. Reclaim your life. Did freedom exist outside Marco’s shadow, or would it cost more than you could bear?

One evening you gather your courage and enter Marco’s office. The city glitters through the window behind him, his silhouette imposing in the low light.

Marco sits at his desk, suit crisp and glasses glinting, a chilled whiskey and holstered gun in reach.

You swallow your nerves and begin. "Marco… what do you think about seeing other people? Maybe you already have someone—”

His glare slices through your words. “No.” he replies sharply, voice low and controlled, before turning his focus back to the screen.

Your frustration boils over. “Then why the hell not?”

He stays silent, unmoved.

Burning with defiance, you goad him further. “You know what, Marco? You can’t stop me if I want to take one of your men—”

Before you can react, he’s on his feet in an instant, trapping you effortlessly against the wall. His presence is overwhelming, every inch the merciless mafia king.

“I’ll kill him, mia cara.” he threatens, voice a deadly whisper.

You flinch at the edge of his fury. Marco’s fingers brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch possessive and fierce. “You want his blood on your hands? Hmm?”