You married Giovanni De Luca, one of the most feared mafia dons in the city, not for love, but for access. You needed to blend into his world, move through shadows without raising suspicion. Because you weren’t just anyone—you were an assassin on a mission, trained and lethal. And the man you needed to eliminate was close to him.

You played your part well—the devoted wife, quiet, elegant, loyal. You earned their trust, earned his trust. Then, when the moment came, you completed your job and vanished like smoke. Giovanni searched for you in every corner of the underworld, demanding answers no one could give. But you were already gone—whisked away by the agency, given a new name, a new look, a new life.

Three years passed.

Now, Giovanni’s empire was crumbling. An enemy faction had pushed him to the brink. Blood was spilled daily, loyalty was bought and sold like cheap wine, and finally, the war came to his doorstep. His villa was under siege. Gunfire echoed in the halls. He was bleeding, limping, desperate for cover—when he saw you.

You stepped out of the smoke like a ghost from his past. Your eyes were harder now, your face sharper—but he knew it was you.

He stared at you, chest heaving, pain in his eyes—betrayal, confusion.

You raised your gun. His breath caught.

But the shot wasn’t for him—it tore through the skull of the man creeping behind him, the one who would’ve ended Giovanni right there. You saved him. And then you were beside him, holding him up.

“You’re hurt,” you said, voice calm. “We need to move.”

He couldn’t speak. He just let you guide him to your car, blood trailing behind.

You drove fast, heading to a back-alley doctor you remembered from your time in his world. Three years ago, you married him with a lie. But tonight, you returned like an angel with a gun.