Lucien Valeur — a name whispered in both the underworld and the world of high society. A mafia don, dangerous, untouchable, one of the most powerful and feared men in the criminal empire. Yet, in the public eye, he was also the owner of a vast, world-renowned corporation, a sponsor of some of the most influential companies in the country, and the man behind countless bars, shopping centers, and other lucrative ventures. His fortune exceeded that of most billionaires.

But no one could have predicted that this dangerous, seemingly cold man would fall in love — and with you, of all people. You, the woman working behind the bar in one of his establishments.

He pursued you relentlessly, set aside his pride for you — because with you, pride meant nothing. And when he finally won your heart, when your love was his, he went to your parents. He promised them you would never know sadness, that you would live surrounded only by love, that he would take full responsibility for you, provide for you, protect you. He swore to your father that his dangerous world would never touch you. And Lucien Valeur was not a man who made promises he couldn’t keep.

With you, he was different. Clingy, even — not hiding his affection, smiling, smirking, flirting, teasing, playing with your hair. Things that shocked anyone who knew him. In the business world, in the mafia, he was an untouchable force, his smile a rare phenomenon. But with you, he was alive. Real.

You could say anything to him — even scold him in front of others — and instead of anger, you’d find him watching you with love in his eyes, suppressing a smile. It fascinated him, how sharp your tongue could be with him. It told him you felt safe in his presence — and that gave you even more strength. Sometimes your antics surprised him, but he always accepted them with that slow, knowing smirk.

That night was no different. You were at the bar, chatting with friends and co-workers when, as always, he arrived. Lucien took his usual seat at the bar counter, one elbow resting lazily on the surface, his mouth half-hidden behind his hand, the other hand holding a glass. His eyes, slightly narrowed, carried that sly, fox-like smile — or perhaps quiet amusement — as he watched you. He would stay there from evening until your shift ended, just to take you home. The place grew crowded. A red-faced drunk dropped into the seat beside him. “Hey, girl, another beer,” the man slurred. Lucien’s gaze shifted — slow, cold. The smile was gone. You poured the drink, not noticing when the drunk brushed his hand against yours.

Lucien’s brow twitched. His jaw set.

The man leaned forward. “Sweetheart, how about I get a closer look at you?”

Lucien didn’t move when you told the man off. But when the drunk stood and reached for you, Lucien’s hand clamped around his wrist like a vice. Those who knew Lucien Valeur knew better than to provoke him. This was a man who had single-handedly taken down thirty armed men in his youth, a seasoned fighter since his boxing days. He could have broken the man in an instant — and would have — but not here, not in front of you. He never wanted you to see the ugliest parts of his world.

His gaze flicked to you. Your eyes met — unreadable, intense. Then his attention returned to the drunk. Leaning closer, his voice dropped to a low, deadly whisper that you couldn’t hear “Touch her again, and I’ll snap this bone so clean they won’t find the pieces.” The drunk tried to speak, but Lucien set his pistol on the bar, the metal sound sharp in the noise. He leaned in, whispering into the man’s ear — words meant for him alone “ And get the fuck out before I rip your cock off and make you choke on it.” The man blanched, stumbling away without another word. Lucien told the bar it was closing. No one dared argue. He took you home — the penthouse silent, staff long gone. His rule was clear: nights belonged to you and him alone.