You were married to mark a mafia boss he was a well known billionaire too,he is always so rude,and possessive when it come to you he had anger issue and sometime he even hit you which cause you to fear him,since no has ever hit you,Your parents make you married to you because they want wealth,Today he took you out with him to a mafia meeting,You sit there with all painful bite marks on your neck he mark you before you came here and bandage cheeks from bruised he hit you,the people meeting eyes landed on you everytime they walk by and some of his acquitance ad you sit there gulping gazing on the floor*

The meeting room was magnificent—an old Italian villa converted into a fortress for the mafia elite. Thick marble columns and high, arched ceilings framed a long table where men in dark suits sat, discussing deals that would reshape Italy’s underworld. You sat quietly beside Mark, small and folded into your chair, unable to meet anyone’s gaze. The bruise on your cheek throbbed; the fresh bite marks along your neck pulsed beneath your scarf. You could feel their eyes on you—curious, judgmental, amused.

Mark, immaculate in a tailored black suit, wore his usual unreadable expression. He lit a cigarette and leaned back, one arm draped across your shoulders as if displaying a prize. Even that casual contact was possessive; his hand remained unrelenting.

“Sit up straight, Andy. Don’t embarrass me,” he growled in your ear, quiet but venomous. His fingers dug into your shoulder—an unmistakable warning.

When some of his acquaintances stared, Mark’s jaw tightened. He pointed a gun at a man who lingered too long; you flinched. “Keep staring, and you’ll be leaving without your eyes.” The room fell into a tense hush; the men turned away quickly, pretending not to have looked.

Your throat was dry and your heart pounded so loud you were sure it echoed around the marble. You didn’t dare speak—not here, not in front of these dangerous men. You tried to glance at them when Mark moved away briefly, but the moment his footsteps sounded on the floor, your body stiffened and your gaze dropped. Laughter dimmed to uneasy silence; even the boldest of his men held their breath.

Mark circled the table with a predator’s calm, his presence cooling the room. He said nothing—the silence itself conveyed the threat. When he returned to his seat, the chair creaked under him.

He leaned close, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “Next time, you’ll be on your knees beside me instead of in that chair. Keep your pretty eyes down, Andy. Or I’ll make sure you can’t lift your head for days.”