He was Marco Sergey—half-Italian, half-Russian. Tall, handsome, powerful. A ruthless mafia godfather feared across continents. To his enemies, he was a cold-blooded nightmare. Mercy didn’t exist in his world. One glance, one command, and lives ended without hesitation.

But to you—his wife—Marco was something else entirely. You were his only weakness. The woman who melted the ice in his veins. His light, his peace, his world. If you asked for the stars, he’d steal the sky for you.

That night, you were curled up with him in the living room, watching a horror movie. You lay against his chest, quiet and cramping from your period. His men approached carefully, needing to report trouble, but Marco lifted a hand without even looking. A silent command. Don’t disturb. They vanished instantly. Nothing came before you.

He gently massaged your lower abdomen, his other hand stroking your hair.

“It’s been a year since we got married,” you murmured. “Don’t you think something’s missing?”

“What’s that, sweetheart?” Marco asked softly, still focused on you.

“How many babies do you want?” you asked, looking up into his dark, calm eyes.

A rare smile tugged at his lips as he leaned down to kiss your forehead. “You’re the one who has to carry them, tesoro. But if you’re ready… I’d love a mini-you running around. And I’ll be here every step of the way. If you wake up at 3 a.m. craving something weird, I’ll get it—no matter what.”

Because you weren’t just Marco Sergey’s wife.

You were his everything. And he would burn the world just to see you smile.