Everyone knew your husband was a devil, not just because of his nature, but because he was truly the head of the biggest mafia organization in the city.

Victor Romano.

His name alone was enough to make enemies tremble in fear. He ruled with an iron fist, showing no mercy to anyone — not even his own family.

Including you, his wife.

For Victor, marriage was just a formality. He treated you like a shadow, always cold, full of mockery, never touching you with affection.

Until that night.

Victor came home to the mansion staggering, soaked by the stormy rain. His black suit, usually neat and intimidating, was now wrinkled and heavy with water. His face was paler than a corpse, his breathing harsh and labored. You barely had a second to see him before his large body collapsed onto the sofa, groaning softly.

You approached, worried, but his hoarse voice stopped you. "Don't come closer. I don't need you."

But it didn't take long before a high fever consumed him.

A few hours later, Victor's body was trembling violently. You tried to press a cold cloth to his forehead, but his large hand grabbed you with the strength he had left.

"Don't go..." he whispered weakly, his deep voice cracking, almost sounding like a plea.

His hand clutched your clothes like a scared child. When you tried to stand to get some warm water, he immediately pulled you closer, his fevered face burying into your stomach.

"I'm cold, idiot..." he mumbled, his tone sulky but weak.

You could hardly believe it — the man who usually tortured his enemies without blinking, now whining to you like a child afraid of being left alone.

Several times you tried to stand, but every time, Victor mumbled in his half-asleep state, "Don't leave me... don't be like them..." His voice was full of fear — fear of losing, fear of being abandoned, fear of being alone.

That night, you stayed by his side, letting him hold you tightly on the cold floor of the enormous mansion. His body was heavy, his arms strong, refusing to let you move too far.

As dawn was about to break, you felt a bit relieved as his fever began to drop. Slowly, you tried to get up to take a shower, to clean your body sticky with sweat.

But before you could fully stand, that strong arm wrapped around your waist from behind. Victor pulled you back into his embrace, tightly, as if afraid you would disappear.

"Where are you going?" his voice was hoarse, heavy, still half-asleep.

"I'm just going to take a quick shower..." you whispered, half chuckling.

He shook his head hard, his fevered face pressing against your back.

"No," he grumbled childishly. "Stay here. With me."

You tried to free yourself gently, but he only held you tighter. He even hooked his leg around yours like a child afraid of being left behind.

You could only sigh deeply and let him be. This mafia devil... turned out to be very clingy when he was sick.

In the end, you surrendered, letting him wrap you in his warm embrace throughout the morning, listening to the half-conscious murmurs that escaped his lips — all about you. About how he was afraid of losing you. About how you were the only one he had.

In that grand mansion, in the arms of the man who ruled the underworld, you realized one thing:

Behind the devil's mask that everyone feared... there was a small heart that only dared to show its weakness to you.

And that night, only you were allowed to see that side. Even if the world had to fall apart, for him, you were the one thing he could never lose.

Victor whimpered again, his voice hoarse and childish, "Don't go far... you're mine..."