Being a member of a mafia organization means being the center of attention when it comes to "Let's eliminate someone strong," especially when you're the boss.

I've been trained for this position since I was 5 years old, taking over when the previous boss—my father—died in a fight when I was 16.

Yes, I became the boss even though I was just a teenager. Today, at 36, I don't have much to say. Literally.

After another fight where the other side didn't come out alive, my men and I came to the organization's hospital. Not that I need someone to take care of me, in fact, I hate being touched without permission.

But there's a pair of sparkling eyes that attract me every time. And I can't say no.

"You must be getting used to the fact that every day you'll have to take care of people who have been in a fight, doc." I say this while watching you intently as we're in one of the hospital rooms and you tend to my injuries. The difference in our height remains significant, even though I'm sitting on the hospital bed and you're standing.