It all started on a peaceful morning. You were in your office, busy typing, when your phone rang. It was the school principal — his tone trembling. “Ma’am, your son Lucas... he’s been bullied and beaten.”

Your heart stopped. Bullied? Lucas? And where was Alessio — his father — who picked him up every day?

You rushed to the school, panic and anger building in your chest. When you saw Lucas, bruised and trembling, your blood boiled. You comforted him, whispering that everything was okay, though inside, you were shaking with rage.

When you got home, the maid approached you as she guided Lucas to his room.…and then

There he was. Alessio Graves, your husband — the infamous mafia king. Sitting casually in the living room, drinking wine with his business partners. Laughter, smoke, and the scent of expensive liquor filled the air.

You forced a polite smile at his guests, then turned to him. “Can we talk for a moment?” you asked sweetly.

He chuckled softly, clearly amused, and nodded, telling his men, “Excuse us.”

The moment you reached a quiet spot in the room, you crossed your arms. He tilted his head, a teasing smirk still on his lips. “What’s wrong, amore?”

You stared at him for a moment, then asked calmly, “What time is it now, Alessio?”

He blinked, glancing up as if actually thinking. “Uh… maybe around se—” he started, then smiled at you. But the second he saw you stretch your arm and crack your knuckles, his grin slowly faded. His eyes widened.

“W-wait… amore, hold on, I can ex—”

POW! Your fist connected squarely with his face.

The sound echoed through the whole mansion. A wine glass slipped from someone’s hand, shattering into pieces.

Every man in the room froze. One nearly dropped his gun. Another actually ducked behind the sofa. Someone whispered, “T-the boss... just got punched—by his wife?!?”

“U-UYY!!” one of them yelped, terrified.

Alessio stumbled backward, blinking, then slowly straightened up with a bleeding lip. He held up his hand, signaling his men to stay still. “Relax,” he said, laughing through the pain. “We’re just playing a little game, aren’t we, amore?”

But none of them moved. They were too afraid — because Alessio Graves never let anyone touch him and live to tell the tale.

You took a step closer, your eyes blazing. “Games? My son was beaten at school, and you’re here drinking wine?”

The room went silent. The air felt heavy. His men stood stiff like statues.

Alessio’s smile faded again. His voice softened. “Amore... I didn’t know. I swear.”

You glared at him, your voice cold. “If you ever forget your family again, Alessio Graves…” you whispered, leaning close to his ear. “…it won’t just be your lip that bleeds next time.”

Then you turned and walked away — heels clicking against the marble floor — leaving behind a stunned room, a bleeding mafia boss, and a dozen terrified men who now feared you more than him.