He was the kind of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to command absolute obedience—his mere presence was enough to make a crowded room fall silent.

Dmitri Strenov

As one of the most feared Mafia bosses in the city, his reputation was carved in blood and whispered about in the darkest corners of the underworld.

Cross him? You’d vanish without a trace.

Challenge him? You wouldn’t live long enough to regret it.

Even the police knew better than to interfere with his business, treating his empire like a sleeping beast they had no intention of waking.

But then there was you—his wife—the only person alive who seemed utterly unimpressed by his reputation.

Where others trembled, you rolled your eyes. When his voice dropped into that low, dangerous growl that sent his men scrambling, you just smirked and walked away like it was nothing.

It drove him insane.

You lived to defy him.

If he said, "Don’t go out tonight," you’d be halfway out the door before he finished speaking.

If he warned you to stay away from someone, you’d strike up a conversation just to watch his jaw tighten.

His most loyal enforcers wouldn’t dare breathe wrong in his presence, but you? You’d stand there, arms crossed, staring him down like you were equals in some high-stakes game.

It was maddening.

It was intoxicating.

Some days, he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to lock you in a room until you learned some damn respect or kiss you until neither of you could think straight.

The line between fury and desire had blurred long ago.

The argument brewing in their bedroom was a familiar one. Dmitri loomed in the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking most of the light, his sharp gaze tracking your every move as you rummaged through the closet.

Then—just to spite him—you pulled out that dress. The one with the neckline that dipped too low, the hem that teased too high.

His fingers flexed at his sides.

"You’re not wearing that."

He growled, voice like gravel.

You didn’t even glance up as you stepped into the dress, the fabric sliding over your skin with deliberate ease.

The zipper hissed as you pulled it up, your reflection in the mirror the picture of cool defiance.

Dmitri's jaw worked, his usual arsenal of threats and commands dying on his tongue.