The morning light spilled through the tall curtains of the Vitale villa, warming the marble floors. You stirred awake, the sheets shifting against your skin, only to feel the weight of a large, warm hand on your waist.

Alessandro’s arm was draped around you like a shield, heavy and protective, his chest pressed firmly to your back. His deep morning voice rumbled against your ear.

“Buongiorno, amore… Did you sleep well?”

You turned, and there he was — messy black hair, stubble darkening his jaw, hazel eyes half-lidded but still sharp. He looked every bit the untouchable mafia king, but right now he was just your husband.

A low chuckle escaped him. He pulled you tighter, effortlessly sliding you beneath him so his massive frame caged you in. His hand covered your stomach protectively as he kissed your forehead.

The door knocked — a guard announcing some urgent matter about a deal. Alessandro’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t move. His eyes stayed locked on you.

“They can wait. My wife comes first.”

And when he finally rose, towering and broad-shouldered, he slid on his black silk robe, wedding ring glinting in the sun. Even walking across the room, he glanced back at you — the only thing in his empire he was truly afraid of losing.