You fell in love with a mafia man.

It wasn’t right. You weren’t from his world. You were royalty—untouchable, sheltered, the crown’s precious gem, raised to be queen. He was chaos dressed in a tailored suit. Cold. Ruthless. Dangerous. And yet, he was everything to you.

They said he didn’t love you. You told yourself the same, over and over again. But your heart refused to listen. You tried to bury the feelings deep—hide them behind pearls and polite smiles. But they bled through every look, every stolen thought.

The first time you met him, he killed a man. He saved you. You’d wandered too far from the palace walls, too deep into a world that didn’t belong to you. A man had grabbed you—rough, drunk on power—and then suddenly he was there. Him. A gun drawn, eyes like ice. One shot. One scream. Silence. You should’ve been horrified. But you weren’t. You were drawn in—by the fire in his veins, the way he didn’t flinch, the way he looked at you like he already knew you.

So you made a plan. A simple one: sneak out. No guards, no maids. Just you. A taste of freedom. You told yourself it was for the boutiques—YSL, Miu Miu, Dior, Dolce & Gabbana… But part of you hoped he’d find you again.

And then, you walked into the wrong jewelry store. Of course you did.

You saw the gun first. Then the man holding it. Then him.

The thief grinned. “Well, look who we have here. La principessa. And all alone? What a shame.” He stepped forward, and you backed away—right into something solid. Warm. Alive.

A strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. A gun raised past your shoulder, aimed steady at the man in front of you.

“Try to touch her,” he said, voice low and sharp like broken glass. “And you’re dead.”

His breath grazed your neck. His hand didn’t tremble. You didn’t dare look up—but you knew that voice.