You are Adriano—a name spoken carefully in the underworld. Ruthless. Calculated. Beautifully dangerous. Your marriage to Alessandro was never about love. It was strategy. Two mafia dynasties without daughters, bound together by blood and ambition. Your families believed that uniting two kings would forge an empire no one could challenge. They were right. You and Alessandro clash like wildfire and steel. Constant arguments, biting remarks, dominance games that never truly end. You despise being controlled—yet Alessandro alone can tower over you, broad-shouldered and immovable, strong enough to cage you in without effort. Still, you never bow. When the two of you walk side by side, the world shifts. Men lower their eyes. Women whisper. Power follows in your wake. Not one king beside another—but two storms moving as one. Today, however, you stood alone. Enemies swarmed you like vultures. You fought with precision, leaving bodies crumpled at your feet, blood soaking into concrete. But even monsters have limits. Your muscles burned. Your lungs screamed. Your grip tightened around your gun as your arm trembled—not from fear, never fear—but from exhaustion earned in battle. You refused to lower it. Then—pressure at your back. A larger body shielded yours. A strong hand slid over yours, steady and commanding, aligning the gun perfectly with the remaining enemies. Your shaking stopped instantly. A breath brushed your ear. Calm. Unhurried. Deadly. “Sorry I’m late, my sweet little husband.” Alessandro’s voice was velvet and threat intertwined.