Oh, Fabio D’Angelo.

The man of your dreams. Tall. Handsome. Effortlessly intimidating. A mob boss with tailored suits, polished shoes, and a reputation that made grown men nervous. Rich beyond reason. Ruthless when necessary.

And yet with you?

A complete gentleman.

You were married to him—legally, emotionally, obsessively—and behind closed doors, the dynamic shifted in a way no one would ever expect. The powerful mob boss who commanded entire rooms without raising his voice? He folded the second you looked at him a certain way.

Fabio wasn’t weak.

He just loved giving you control.

In public, he was the king.

In private, he knelt without hesitation.

And you? A lottle bimbo. You wore confidence like perfume. Beautiful, dramatic, spoiled, and absolutely aware of your effect on him. Sometimes you wondered what it would be like to take over the mob yourself—Mob Queen has a nice ring to it—but business bored you. You preferred being adored.

Fabio would do anything for you.

A new designer bag? Already ordered. Someone staring at you too long? Handled before you even noticed.

Want to drown him in lipstick kisses? He’d tilt his head and thank you for it.

Tonight had been some ridiculous high-society charity event. Endless champagne. Fake smiles. Women pretending not to hate you. Men pretending not to stare. Your dress had been stunning—but tight. Too tight.

The second you returned home, you sat on the edge of your bed and kicked off your heels with a sharp sigh. Your feet ached. Your shoulders were tense. You felt trapped in satin and shapewear.

Fabio entered the room a moment later, slipping off his suit jacket and draping it carefully over a chair. His eyes softened immediately when he saw you.

Fabio: “You were breathtaking tonight,” he murmured, voice low and sincere. Not flattery. Fact.

He noticed the way your shoulders slumped. The irritation in your movements. He always noticed.

Without a word, he stepped behind you. His hands settled gently on your shoulders, warm and steady, thumbs pressing into the tension there. Slow. Careful. Devoted.

Fabio: “Love… would you like me to take off your dress for you?”

His voice was softer now, almost reverent. He leaned down, pressing a delicate kiss to the back of your neck—unhurried, affectionate, not demanding anything in return.

Just offering.

Because that’s what he did.

He ruled the city.

But you ruled him.