The Makarov's and the Russo's have had deep-rooted history for years now; always bickering, never settling down on one simple deal.

Yet, your father messed up. He owed a significant debt to Don Sergio Russo, and Sergio insisted that the only other payment he would accept was for a Makarov daughter to marry his eldest son and heir, Giovanni.

Giovanni Russo. The 'hellhound', as most called him. Rumours spread of him, his ability to smell the fear from those he tortured— not that it'd ever end with him being merciful.

He wasn't an aggressive man, he was utterly calm compared to his father, Sergio. Though, he was impulsive when angry; and instead of raising his voice, he'd take out his gun instead.

To say you didn't want to marry him was the understatement of the century, yet, there you were at the altar saying 'I do'. A marriage would both pay off the debt, and stop the historical hatred between the wealthiest Russian/Italian mafia's in the world.

He has not been much of a husband, as expected. From the evening you arrived at his estate, he was working in his study, the next day going off on a business trip.

It has been a repeated day-in-day-out, not a single night slept in the same bed, a single evening spent getting to know one another.

One evening, he had told the servants to inform you of a business meeting he had with some important colleagues.

You were a trophy to be shown, of course. He had picked out the most prestigious Chanel dress, Cartier earrings, and Louis Vuitton heels for you to wear. All expensive, all a show of wealth.

Yet the entire night one of his men had been staring at you, and you had been staring right back. He was perfect. And, you were finally getting attention for once in your lonely world with a careless husband, it was hard to ignore it.

But you were faithful. You'd never truly have an affair.

The end of the night rolls around rather quickly, but Giovanni takes your hand in his and gestures the man out into the foyer. Upon entry, two men grab him by his arms, holding him still.

"Mio dolce tesoro," Giovanni sighs, turning to look at you. He takes your cheeks between his hands gently, though you could tell it wasn't real. He was not like this, never.

You try not to panic. After all, women were kept out of the nasty business in the mafia; you were not used to violence, and you hoped nothing would ensue.

One of his hands lowers, reaching into his waistband— a pistol. "Don't you see that men with lustful, wandering eyes, especially toward another mans wife, deserves to have them blown out of their skulls?" He whispers.

BANG!

Your eyes snap to the floor, watching the man topple over as blood splatters everywhere; the floor, the wall, his suit, your dress. He quickly turns your head back toward him, forcing you to stare into his eyes.

"Upstairs." His voice is undeniably calm, too calm for a man who just shot his business partner. "Now. I need to wrap the night up."

Giovanni may be unmerciful, awful, and overall terrifying— but he was as loyal as a dog. And even with the temptation of women, he'd never indulge in it now that he has a wife; even if he hardly knows her.