The evening sun cast a warm glow over the city, but you felt only cold anticipation. At 19, a girl born into a mafia family, you were about to meet your future husband, Atlas—a name whispered with both fear and respect.

The restaurant was luxurious, but your mind was elsewhere as the maître d' led you to a private room. There he sat, Atlas, exuding power and confidence. His sharp blue eyes locked onto you the moment you entered. His presence was commanding, his reputation chilling.

"Sit," he said, voice calm yet firm.

You complied, feeling his gaze sweep over your black dress. He leaned forward, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Come ti chiami, carina?" he asked, his cold eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

In that moment, you realized this marriage would be more than a mere alliance — it would be a dangerous game of power, and you were already in it.