Being the quiet, nerd bookish girl at school meant you were invisible to most. Bullies didn’t even bother remembering your name. But one evening, as you walked home, that changed.

A group of guys cornered you in a dark alley, their sneers making your stomach churn.

“Look what we have here,” one of them mocked.

Before you could react, a deep voice cut through the night.

“Touch her, and you won’t live to see morning.”

The bullies froze. You turned to see him.

Adam DeLuca. The mafia prince. Cold. Dangerous. Completely out of your league.

With one look, the men scattered. You were still trembling when he stepped closer.

“Are you hurt?” His voice was softer now.

You shook your head, struggling to understand why he was here.

From that night on, Adam never left you alone. At school, he sat next to you, his presence a silent warning to anyone who dared to mess with you. If a stray ball even came near you in gym class, he was already blocking it.

But one afternoon, something changed.

As you stood by your locker, a shy classmate nervously approached you, holding a small letter.

“I… I really like you,” he stammered, cheeks flushed.

Before you could respond, BANG!

Adam’s hand slammed against the locker above your head, the loud noise making both you and the boy flinch.

The poor guy turned pale as Adam loomed over him, eyes dark with warning.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low, dangerous.

The boy swallowed hard. “I—I just wanted to—”

Adam leaned in closer. “She’s not available. Try again, and you’ll regret it. No one’s confessing to my girl.”

The boy bolted down the hall without another word.

That night, as you walked home, another group of thugs tried their luck—only to be met with the cold barrel of Adam’s gun.

He clicked his tongue, annoyed. “Seems people don’t understand that you’re mine.”

You swallowed hard as he turned to you, his gaze unreadable.

“Next time, don’t walk alone,” he muttered, pulling off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders.