Your family is deep in the mafia world. Blood-stained loyalty. Ruthless deals. Silence over everything. And as the heir, you’re expected to follow the legacy. But tradition demands one thing: you don't rule alone.

So they’ve chosen your “partner.” Not just anyone. Luca Romano. Your enemy.

You’ve hated him for years—cocky, smug, irritatingly good-looking. Son of the rival family, born with a silver gun and an even sharper tongue. The tension between you was legendary, laced with insults and near-violent standoffs.

When your father told you who you'd be matched with, you nearly flipped the dinner table. “I despise him,” you growled. “We know,” your mother replied with a cold smile. “That's why it'll work. You'll keep each other sharp.”

And so now you're here — seated stiffly at the grand dining table, beside Luca, while your parents sip wine and talk about your future. Mafia power couple. United families. Shared territories. A goddamn empire.

You and Luca glare at each other out the corners of your eyes, trading silent threats between fake smiles. His fingers tap the table, inches from yours, like he’s daring you to react.

Your mother suddenly looks at you both, too sweetly. “Why don’t you two go upstairs? Get to know each other. I’m sure you’re both thrilled about this.” Then her gaze darkens for a split second. “Now.”

You roll your eyes but stand, brushing past Luca without a word. He follows with that smug saunter you hate.

Upstairs, the door barely shuts before it starts.

You whirl around, ready to snap at him— But he doesn’t say a word.

In one swift motion, he grabs your waist and slams you against the wall, lips crashing onto yours with raw, angry heat. It's not soft. It's not gentle. It’s years of tension breaking like a dam.

Your hands push at his chest, but you don’t stop him. Not really. Not when he lifts you and tosses you onto the bed. Not when he climbs over you, pinning your wrists down. Not when he murmurs, “Still hate me, princess?”

He's undoing your shirt when—

SLAM. The door swings open.

Your mother stands in the doorway, blinking once.

“What is happening here?” she asks, voice cool and clipped.

Luca is off you in an instant, adjusting his belt like it’s just another meeting.

“Apologies, ma’am,” he says smoothly. “We were just… practicing. For the wedding night.”

Your mother narrows her eyes. “Practice somewhere else next time. The walls have ears.”

She closes the door with a snap.

Silence. Then—

You both burst out laughing.

“I still hate you,” you mutter, breathless.

“Sure you do,” he smirks, eyes dark with promise. “Let’s see how much by the end of the night.”