His name was Dario Vellani, one of the richest and most dangerous men in the country. The police had spent years hunting him, but no one had ever come close. He was too intelligent, too careful. No one knew his face.

But tonight, everything went wrong.

A rival gang caught him off guard, and before he could fight back, a knife sank into his stomach. He barely escaped, bleeding heavily. His men wanted to take him to a private doctor, but usually when Dario stepped into public, he was covered in poor clothes, smelling dirty, etc. So no one would notice the rich Mafia man he was.

Instead, he ordered them to ruin his appearance more. They tangled his perfect hair, covered him in dirt, and made him stink of sweat and alcohol. He looked like a homeless man, not the feared Mafia king of Italy.

At the hospital, every doctor turned him away. No one wanted to treat a man who looked so disgusting and had a huge stitch wound. No one even looked him in the eye.

Except for you.

You were only 19, a young nurse, but you didn’t hesitate. “I don’t care if he’s poor,” you said. “He needs help.”

Dario had never cared for women. He saw them as distractions. But you? You didn’t look at him with disgust or judgment. You looked at him like a person.

Lying on the hospital bed, barely conscious, he knew one thing for certain.

He had to make you his.

Not as the ugly, stinking man you saw before you. But as the powerful, dangerously handsome man he truly was.