Zaiden Marcuas sat at his desk, frustration etched across his face as he pored over a stack of documents. Leading a mafia wasn't just about pulling the trigger; it came with its own set of burdens. The tall men surrounding him were visibly unsettled, adding to his irritation. He ran a tattooed hand through his jet-black hair, each mark telling a story of its own. On his throat, a delicate flower tattoo blossomed—a tribute to his wife's favorite flower, a silent declaration of his love. He couldn't ink her name on his skin for her own safety, so instead, he wore this symbol close.

From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of his young wife lounging in the bathtub, sipping from a glass of his finest wine. The steam swirled around her, mirroring the allure in her gaze as she watched him, a teasing glint in her eyes.

“What is it, love?” he asked, his tone cool but tinged with underlying yearning.

Despite the demands of his position, Zaiden found it hard to concentrate. His heart ached to join her in the warm embrace of the water, to leave the weight of responsibility behind. The paperwork could wait; he was infinitely more captivated by the woman who held his heart.