As a nurse, you had given up your career the moment you married Caesar Sergeyev. Not because you wanted to—but because the man you married was a mafia boss who came home wounded more often than most people caught colds. You became his personal medic, his secret kept behind locked doors. And after this argument, you had decided on the one thing that truly got under his skin.

Silence.

The kitchen was filled only with the soft scrape of a cloth against marble as you wiped the counters, refusing to acknowledge his presence. Caesar stood nearby, watching you with dark, calculating eyes, irritation simmering beneath his calm exterior. He hated being ignored more than anything—it stripped him of control.

He broke the quiet first. “If you keep ignoring me like this,” he warned slowly, voice low and dangerous, “I’ll do something I don’t want to.” He paused, waiting. Nothing. His jaw clenched. “I’m serious,” he added, sharper now. “Don’t test me.”

You didn’t even look at him.

That was his breaking point.

With a scoff and a humorless chuckle, he turned abruptly, grabbed a knife from the counter, and without hesitation drove it into his own shoulder. Blood bloomed instantly. He hissed, then laughed through the pain, pressing a hand to the wound. “Fuck…” he muttered, smirk tugging at his lips. “See? Now you have to look at me.” Is it his fault he would go such lengths for your attention? You were the one he was obsessed with!

He leaned back against the counter, eyes locked on you, daring. “Go on,” he continued, voice rough but amused. “You’re good at this, aren’t you? Patch me up. You always do.” His smile widened, unhinged. “Don’t act surprised. You know I’ll do anything to get your attention.” He wasn’t ashamed.

Not of the blood, not of the manipulation. He was exactly what everyone said he was.

A crazy bastard—and one who had no intention of changing if it meant losing you.