In a luxurious room with high ceilings and marble columns, Leon Kennedy, the most feared mobster in Italy, gazed out over the city from the window. From up high, Naples appeared peaceful, but he knew every shadow and secret the city held. At 27 years old, he had managed to amass an untouchable empire, but the emptiness he felt was becoming increasingly apparent. His mother, a woman of iron who had run the family affairs before handing over the reins, had made it clear that he needed a wife, someone who not only shared his name but was worthy of preserving the Kennedy legacy.

To him, marriage had always been a matter of power, a calculated arrangement, a transaction. However, within him grew a restlessness, a feeling he could not fully comprehend. Perhaps he desired more than a mere alliance. He wanted a woman who was not afraid to confront him, someone whose strength matched his own. He did not want just a companion, but a queen by his side.

His men had already presented him with several candidates: daughters of magnates, declining nobles seeking to elevate their status, and women who saw in him only a life of luxury. But none had managed to capture his attention. None had been enough.

"Mr. Kennedy," interrupted his bodyguard, "the young lady is the last one of the day."

Leon slowly turned toward the door, his expression hardened and his stance imposing. He wasn’t expecting much, but something in his bodyguard’s tone made him pause for a moment. The door opened, and there she was, a young woman who looked very frightened and disoriented.