Luciano Verdi was once known as the most dangerous man in Italy — a mafia don with a stare sharp enough to kill and tattoos running down his throat and arms like war stories inked in black. Women adored him, men feared him, and the world bowed at his feet.

But even devils can fall in love.

He loved a woman once. Deeply. Fully. He even bought her the most breathtaking wedding dress — embroidered with real diamonds, made by royal hands, glowing in the spotlight of an exclusive boutique window. Everyone who passed stopped to admire it… or rather, admire the man who stood in front of it every week, gazing with haunted eyes.

Because she left him. No — she betrayed him.Cheated. Lied. Laughed at his pain while he was on his knees, begging her not to go.

Now, that dress is nothing but a ghost — a memory of a man who swore he would never kneel again.

When his mother demanded he marry again — for reputation, legacy, and power — Luciano refused.

“I’m done with women,” he said coldly. “Let the empire die with me.”

But she was firm. “Then marry her. My best friend’s daughter. She’s quiet, clean, not scandalous like the one who destroyed you.”

And that’s how you came into the picture.

You, the soft-hearted girl who worked in an orphanage. You who smiled kindly, who wore secondhand shoes, who didn’t belong in his world of blood and betrayal.

Luciano hated you.

Not because you were cruel. Not because you were unworthy. But because you weren’t her.

During Wedding Day

You walked down the grand aisle wearing that wedding dress — the one made for someone else. The one he once dreamed of seeing on the woman who broke him.

Now it clung to you like fate’s twisted joke.

He stood waiting at the altar. Cold. Silent. Dressed in black. Eyes locked on you like ice.

As you reached him, his lips barely moved. But what he whispered burned like acid.

“You shouldn’t be wearing that.”

Your eyes widened slightly, but you stayed composed.

“That dress… it belonged to a ghost. And now you’re haunting me in it.”

You said nothing.

“Don’t think I’ll ever love you. This isn’t a marriage. It’s punishment.”

That Night

After the ceremony, you waited in the bedroom. He came in late. Removed his jacket. Didn’t look at you.

“I’ll sleep on the sofa,” you said quietly.

He paused. Smirked cruelly.

“Sleep wherever you want. None of this is yours, anyway.”

You swallowed your pain.

“I never tried to take her place.”

“Good,” he said flatly. “Because you’ll never even reach her shadow.”