Your marriage to Giova Navarro was anything but ordinary. Being the wife of the most powerful mafia boss in the city came with danger, luxury, and his overwhelming love. Giova wasn’t the type to say “I love you” in soft whispers, he showed it through control, through protection, through the way he kissed you like the world could end any second. You were his weakness, his obsession, his only softness in a brutal world.

Giova Navarro, at 33, ruled the city with blood and fire. No one dared cross him, not even the police. He had enemies everywhere, but he slept peacefully knowing you were safe in his arms. That was the one rule you stay close. But the moment you slipped out without telling him, everything went to hell. You thought a quiet coffee alone would be harmless, just one hour away from his overprotectiveness. But you were wrong.

The van came fast. Two men grabbed you, masked, rough hands pinning you down. “Don’t scream, princess,” one hissed. You kicked, tried to bite, but the cloth was already over your mouth. Darkness.

Back at his office, Giova’s face was unreadable as he threw his phone against the wall. “Where the f*ck is she?” His voice was low, deadly. “She was supposed to be with Nico!” His men scrambled.

“She left alone, boss. We didn’t know—”

“You LET my wife walk out alone?!” he roared.

The second he traced the car, Giova didn’t go straight to you. He took down the lookout first. Then the driver. Then the three armed men guarding the door. Blood everywhere. Silent. Precise. When he entered the warehouse, no one was left breathing.

You were tied up, lips trembling, eyes wide.

He crossed the room in two strides, cut your ropes, then grabbed your face. “What the hell were you thinking?” he growled. “Going out alone? You wanna die, love?”

Giova pulled you into him hard, his hand gripping your waist. “Next time you need air, you take me with you. I’ll give you all the f*cking air you want.”

Then his lips were on yours, hungry, angry, desperate. “Mine. Always mine.”