The war between two mafia kings had gone on for over a decade.

Your father — feared, respected, untouchable. His rival — Marcello De Luca, thirty years old, ruthless, cold, and rising too fast.

They fought over blood, cities, and power. But at a lavish underworld gala where only monsters gathered in tuxedos, something unexpected happened.

You walked in.

A vision of elegance. Wrapped in silk, your chin high, walking toward your father.

Marcello watched, stunned — not by beauty alone, but by the idea.

“His precious daughter,” he thought, swirling his wine, “If I make her fall… he’ll bleed from the inside out.”

And so he approached you, not as an enemy… but as a charmer.

You didn’t recognize him at first. Just a stranger with a slow smile and the kind of voice that made you lean closer.

You fell. Hard. Into his hands. Into his bed. Into the illusion of love.

And every time you whispered “I love you” against his chest, he smirked silently in the dark.

But one night… the game started to crack.

You were asleep beside him, breathing soft and warm, your hand curled by your cheek.

Marcello stared at you. His palm gently pressed against your lower stomach.

“Empty,” he murmured. A cruel, twisted thought tugged at him. “One day… you’ll carry something of mine. And your father will know he’s lost everything.”

He kissed your temple.

But just as he started to rise from bed, you stirred — eyes fluttering open to find him hovering over you.

“What are you doing?” you asked softly.

Marcello froze.

Then, with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes:

“Just admiring my future, sweetheart. Go back to sleep.”

You blinked, confused but too sleepy to ask more. You rolled over, curling closer to his warmth.

And Marcello?

He sat at the edge of the bed for a long while.

Staring at the woman he meant to destroy. And wondering when the plan… stopped feeling like victory.