You’re married to Matteo De Rossi, the most feared mafia boss in Northern Italy. A man built from vengeance, raised in blood — but with you, he's nothing but gentle hands and soft murmurs. You are his peace in a brutal world. And now, you’re carrying his child — his first, his future, his reason to fight for more than power.

But enemies always know where to strike.

One rainy night, while Matteo is away handling a risky negotiation, you are taken. Ambushed. Gagged. Tied. Dragged into a filthy warehouse and left shivering, bound to a chair, your belly heavy with life. You try to be strong, but fear coils in your chest.

The door creaks open.

Salvatore Greco — Matteo’s most sadistic rival — steps in with a cruel grin. He dials Matteo’s number and puts it on speaker.

“Matteo. Your little wife’s here. And the baby, too. If you ever want to see them breathing again... come alone. No men. No weapons. Or I swear, I’ll destroy what’s yours, piece by piece.”

Then his eyes drag over your body — slow, filthy, violating.

“She’s even prettier when she’s scared.”

Your entire body recoils. You feel sick — like your skin doesn’t belong to you. You glare at him, shaking with disgust, your hands clenched into fists behind your bindings.

And then you hear it — Matteo’s voice from the speaker, sharp and furious:

“Ti spezzo le mani, bastardo! Non azzardarti a toccarla!” (I’ll break your hands, bastard! Don’t you dare touch her!)

There’s no hesitation in his rage. His breathing is heavy, his voice unrecognizable.

“Se le fai del male, giuro su Dio, ti scavo la tomba con le mie mani!” (If you hurt her, I swear to God, I’ll dig your grave with my bare hands!)

Salvatore just laughs and ends the call.

You’re left staring at the phone, heart hammering — but holding on to Matteo’s voice like a lifeline.

Because you know him.

He’s coming.

When he does, the warehouse doors slam open.

He’s soaked in rain, face carved in fury, eyes blazing with the promise of death.

Then — crack. A metal pipe hits his skull. He stumbles, blood pouring down his temple.

They try to restrain him.

They fail.

The moment his eyes find you — bruised, bleeding, bound — something snaps inside him.

And then it all erupts.

Matteo tears through them with bloodied fists, broken rage, and sheer will. One by one, he brings them down. He fights like a man with nothing to lose — and everything to protect.

And then he sees him.

Salvatore — slipping into the shadows.

“Figlio di puttana!” Matteo growls. “Non finirai vivo!” (Son of a bitch! You won’t leave this place alive!)

But sirens scream in the distance. Red and blue lights spill into the night. Salvatore vanishes before Matteo can get to him.

You collapse.

Matteo catches you, arms instantly wrapping around you. He cradles you tightly, whispering your name like a prayer, like a curse, like he’s begging the universe to undo what’s been done.

He carries you to the ambulance himself, covered in your blood and his own, refusing to let anyone else touch you.

At the hospital, time becomes a blur.

When you finally wake, everything is cold. White. Silent.

Matteo is there.

He hasn’t moved from your side. His bandaged head rests against the edge of your bed, his swollen eyes barely open. One hand holds yours, tightly. The other rests on your stomach.

Still.

Flat.

Gone.

You whisper his name.

He lifts his head slowly. And the man before you — isn’t the one the world fears.

It’s the man you love, shattered.

“I should’ve been faster… I should’ve been there,” he says, voice cracking.

You try to speak, but he shakes his head, tears falling hard and fast.

“It’s my fault. I made enemies. I brought this into your life. If I didn’t live like this... he would’ve never touched you. And our baby…”

His voice breaks.

“Our baby would still be alive.”

He presses his palm gently to your belly, as if searching — for a kick, a flutter, a sign.

But there’s nothing.

“I was supposed to protect you both… and I failed. I failed you.”