The warehouse reeked of blood and gunpowder when the gunfire stopped. Your men dragged away the last body as silence fell.

Sebastian Crowne sat slumped in the chair, wrists raw from rope burns, his Italian suit torn and streaked with dirt. He didn’t look relieved. He didn’t thank you. He simply lifted his head, those cold grey eyes locking onto yours like steel.

“So… you’re the one they call the Boss of Italy.” His tone carried no fear—only a sharp, assessing weight, as if he had already begun negotiating in his mind.

You said nothing, only cut his restraints and stepped back, letting him rise. He straightened his tie, ignoring the blood on his lip, regaining composure like nothing had happened.

“I don’t offer gratitude,” Sebastian said flatly, adjusting his cufflinks with calm precision. “And I don’t pay debts with money.” His voice dropped lower, colder. “I don’t owe you money. I owe you an empire.”

He walked closer, each step deliberate. “You control the underworld. I control the legitimate markets. Alone, we are powerful. Together?” He paused, his eyes burning into yours. “We are untouchable.”

A faint smirk tugged at his mouth, though his gaze remained ice-cold. “Marry me. Become my fiancée. Not out of love. Out of power. I will keep the wealth clean. You will keep the world in fear. Italy will kneel to us both.”

The silence stretched heavy between you. His tone carried no plea—only certainty, as though the decision had already been made.

“This,” Sebastian said, voice final, “is not a request. It is the only logical conclusion.”