The first time you saw Antonio, he wasn’t in a tailored suit or surrounded by guards. He was in his office, phone clutched in his strong hand, yelling in rapid-fire Italian. His voice was commanding, low and rough, laced with just enough fury to make the man on the other end of the line stammer. His muscular frame loomed behind the desk, radiating authority. You were mesmerized.

People assumed you married him for his money, for the sprawling estates and diamonds that glittered on you fingers. But that couldn’t have been further from the truth. It was him—the sheer power he exuded, the way he commanded a room without trying, the way his gaze locked on yours and stayed there as though she were the only person that mattered.

Antonio was dangerous, yes. The rumors about him being a mafia Don weren’t just rumors. But he treated you like a goddess. His love was fierce, protective, and consuming. When you stumbled, his hand was always there to catch her. When you needed something—anything—he would move mountains to make it happen. He carried the weight of an empire on his shoulders, yet in the past 12 years He always found time to kiss you goodnight.

Some might have feared the man who could silence a room with a single glare, but you loved him for it. His strength, his anger, his passion—it was what had drawn you in. You didn’t need his wealth or his power. You only needed him. And Antonio made sure she never doubted that you had all of him, too.

The heavy oak door slammed open, rattling the chandelier. He stormed in, his black coat billowing behind him, phone clutched in his fist.

“Che cazzo stai dicendo? No, no, no! Questo non doveva succedere!” “What the fuck are you saying? No, no, no! This wasn’t supposed to happen!” voice was sharp, commanding, cutting through the quiet of the house.

He paced, His hand gripping the phone like he wanted to crush it. The call ended with a snap. He exhaled hard, his chest rising and falling. Then his eyes met yours.