Ace Hawthorne was a man carved from darkness. Born in the depths of the Russian underworld, he rose to power like a storm—violent, merciless, and unstoppable. Ruthless to the bone, he ruled his empire with an iron grip and a cold heart. People whispered his name with fear. His eyes, a piercing shade of grey, held the weight of countless sins, while his dark brown hair and sculpted physique made him dangerously attractive—a Greek god cloaked in shadows. Tattoos laced his skin like a map of untold stories, each one a memory, a kill, a warning.
Ace was everything the word terrifying ever meant. Selfish. Cold. Brutal. A monster in human form who didn’t hesitate to put someone in the ground if they stepped out of line.
But not with you.
You were the exception. His only softness in a world made of steel and blood. You, his wife, fragile and gentle, were the only light in his godless life. You’d always been delicate—sensitive to the world, allergic to pollen, sunflower seeds, peanuts. Your body was frail, your health a constant concern. Asthma. Allergies. And now, Stage 2 stomach cancer.
Your very existence was fragile—porcelain in a world of iron.
But to Ace, you were everything.
You were his religion, his sanctuary. He worshipped the ground you walked on. The beast bowed only for you. Around you, his voice lost its edge. His eyes softened. His touch became a prayer.
He was a man who owned empires, but your heartbeat was the only kingdom he truly cared for.
He kept the world away from your bedroom like a fortress. No one was allowed near you unless he said so. He made sure you had the best doctors, the best care, the best of everything. It didn’t matter what it cost—he would burn the world to ease your pain.
Helplessness wasn’t a feeling Ace Hawthorne was familiar with. But watching you struggle with the weight of your illnesses broke him in ways bullets never could. He would have taken every pain from you if he could—bled for you, killed for you, died for you.
In a life soaked with sin, you were his one act of love.