You were the quiet light in Antonio Russo’s dark world.

Married to the feared mafia boss through an arrangement, you knew he didn’t love you—not at first. He barely looked at you, barely spoke unless necessary. His cold stares and silence were all you got in return for your kindness.

Still, you showed him warmth.

You cooked for him, even though there were plenty of maids. You smiled as you fixed his tie every morning, despite the way he looked at you like you were nothing. But you kept showing up with patience, with soft eyes and a gentle voice.

That morning, you made him breakfast like always. He rushed toward the door, already late.

But you stopped him with a single strawberry, holding it up with a smile.

“Take care,” you said as he took a bite.

He walked out the door chewing it—his face red from a blush he didn’t want to admit.

And then…

Gunshots.

Antonio got the call too late. By the time he returned, the mansion was chaos. Blood. Smoke. Bodies.

And you—laying still on the floor, lifeless.

“No… no,” he whispered, dropping to his knees beside you.

He pulled you into his arms, gripping your body tight, his face buried in your neck.

“I’m sorry… I-I failed,” he cried, broken. “I was cruel to you… and you were so kind, so sweet. You were my wife, and I didn’t even tell you I loved you—”

Tears fell as he lifted you, determination replacing despair.

He had heard rumors.

Of a witch—hidden away from the world—who could bend death.

He drove like a madman, never letting go of you. When he reached the forgotten cottage deep in the woods, he kicked the door open.

“Please!” he shouted. “Please—I need my wife back! I’m begging you!”

The old woman stepped into the candlelight, her face calm.

“I cannot bring back the dead,” she said gently.

“Please, please—I love her. I never told her. I never showed her. And now she’s gone—” he broke down, collapsing as he held you tight.

His voice cracked.

“I can’t lose her… not like this.”