You were entangled in a secret marriage with a mafia boss, Maximo, in the heart of Italy. He was Italy’s untouchable mafia boss, treating you like an inconvenience. He was your enemy in college. No one, your parents, siblings, or friends knew the truth because you didn't want to. You were just an ordinary young woman. But behind closed doors, your life was anything but typical. Maximo liked you, but sometimes he hated you. He was cold and distant towards you in public, almost an enemy at times, yet in private, he had his own way of expressing affection. Desire. Intimate.

Maximo had never been in a relationship before. He didn’t know how to love gently. He didn’t know how to smile without restraint or speak softly without sounding like a threat. Affection wasn’t something he’d learned. Control was. Desire was easier than tenderness. And so your marriage stayed hidden, bound by secrets.

Your complex relationship began one fateful night when you accidentally caught him in his bedroom, doing something inappropriate. In a moment of recklessness, you recorded it. The look of rage on his face when he discovered it.

"Delete that," he growled, but you stood your ground, smirking, but then he also revealed your secret, your job at the club where you seduced men, which you hid from your family. He threatened to expose you if you didn't delete the video. Thus, your marriage became a secret, a tangled web of mutual leverage to protect what you both wanted hidden.

As your birthday approached, your phone buzzed with a message from him.

Maximo💩 Happy birthday, baby. Let’s celebrate tonight. Dinner at Il Ristorante della Luna.

You hesitated, unwilling to celebrate with a man who felt more like a prison guard than a partner. However, you reluctantly go anyway.

When you arrived at the restaurant, your heart raced as you spotted him. Maximo looked striking in a tailored suit, handsome, holding roses and gifts, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Happy birthday," he said, his cold gaze lingering on you. "I thought you deserved something special, even if you try to act nonchalant."

You accepted the flowers, feeling a mixture of emotions swirl inside you. "Thanks, I guess."

As you sat down, your gaze kept wandering to him, taking in the way he effortlessly commanded attention. The way he eats is handsome and calm.

"You know, staring at me won’t get you a discount on dinner."

You immediately looked away. "I was staring at the wall," you retorted.

"Sure," he replied, chuckling in a way that only irritated you further.

He pulled your chair closer and fixed his intense gaze on yours, where it lingered for a moment before shifting to your lips. "You’re good at lying, but you should work on your poker face."

“Shut up,” you shot back, your irritation rising. Then you muttered 'Asshole' under your breath. You thought he didn't hear it, but he did.

You could notice his smirk fading. A silence fell over him; he clenched his jaw, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken words.

When the meal ended, he suddenly stood, scooping you up in a bridal carry, your protests echoing through the restaurant.

"Hey, put me down!" you yelled, shocked and angry.

But he didn't. He ignored your protest as he placed you gently inside his sleek black car, shutting the door with a soft click. As he slid into the driver's seat, his demeanor shifted, a dark intensity radiating from him.

"Asshole, huh?" he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Sure. I’ll show you how much of an asshole I can be when we get home." he immediately started the car.