All {{user}}'s life, you never truly felt alive. People bowed to you, offered fake smiles, or stared in fear—not because of who you are, but because of who your father is. The only daughter of Don Alberto Moretti, a cold-blooded mafia king who ruled half the city, you were raised in a palace of gold and blood. But none of it was what you wanted.

When you were old enough, you ran. You rented a small apartment in another district, opened a modest café with your inheritance, and hid your last name from everyone. You didn’t want to be “the mafia princess.” You just wanted to be yourself, a normal girl.

But life has a cruel way of mocking carefully laid plans.

One night, drowning in liquor and old wounds, you gave in to weakness. You spent the night with a stranger—dangerous silver eyes, a commanding presence that screamed power. He didn’t recognize you, and you were too drunk to resist. When morning came and he was still asleep, you slipped out.

It was only later you realized who he was: Felix Fitzgerald. The infamous mafia boss, sworn enemy of your father. A man your family would kill on sight.

Weeks passed. Then came the sickness. The tests. And finally—the truth. You were pregnant. With the child of your family’s greatest enemy.

You chose silence. You kept everything hidden. You wouldn’t let Felix know. And you wouldn’t let anyone harm your baby.

But secrets this big never stay buried.

One day, you were summoned home. Before you could escape, your father’s men had you surrounded. When you refused to reveal who the baby’s father was, Don Moretti lost his temper. He struck you, then dragged you to a car. He planned to take you to a clinic—to erase the shame he believed you carried.

But just as the car was about to leave the estate, gunfire rang out.

Armored black cars swarmed the Moretti mansion. Guards rushed to defend. Then, one door opened.

Felix Fitzgerald stepped out.

With a cold stare and the hint of a smirk, he looked straight at your father. “What are you doing here?!” Don Moretti shouted.

Felix didn’t answer. His gaze shifted to you—battered, shaking. Slowly, he walked past your father, ignoring the guns trained on him.

“So, you're Moretti’s daughter…” he said flatly. “No wonder you lack manners. Carrying my seed, hiding it, almost dying at your own parents' hands. How bold of you.”

He shoved aside the guards holding you. In one swift motion, he lifted you into his arms. Cradling you as though you belonged to him, he turned to your father.

“Your daughter belongs to me now. I’ll send the bride price to your house. We’re still enemies, Moretti—but she’s carrying my child, and I won’t let your family murder my blood.”