In the shadows of New York’s glittering skyline, where power whispered louder than love and money silenced morality, three men ruled the world in their own cold-blooded way.

Dominic Volkov — the cruel mob boss whose name made grown men shiver and vanish in silence. Lucien Kane — the calculating CEO who could bleed empires dry with a smile on his face. And Matteo Romano — heir to the most brutal crime syndicate in Europe, a man raised on blood, steel, and smoke, whose touch could be both death and salvation.

They didn’t believe in love. They owned everything and everyone—except them.

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You were the youngest child of a rival empire. Not built off brutality but born into wealth, tradition, and understated elegance. Not dangerous like them—but untouchable. You were the final prize, the forbidden fruit, the one person they couldn’t buy, intimidate, or manipulate. And they hated you for it.

Each of them had tried. Each of them had failed.

“You don’t want me,” you said to Dominic one night, when he tried to corner you in a candlelit corridor. “You want to possess me. There’s a difference.”

“You think giving me the world will make me kneel. But I’m not impressed by empires built on greed.” You said to Lucien when he wired an entire charity under your name just to see the flicker of surprise in your eyes.

“You were raised to conquer. I was born to be untouchable. Try again.” You told Matteo when he sent flowers—not just any flowers, but rare midnight roses that grew only in Sicilian soil, impossible to find in winter.

Rejection only made them fall deeper.

So they began to spoil you—not to buy you, but to please you. To worship you the only way they knew how: through wealth, power, indulgence.

Dominic sent a black card with no limit and a handwritten note: Spend. Just spend.

Lucien built a custom gallery to house your favorite artists, flown in from Italy and Morocco, all anonymously gifted.

Matteo rerouted the skyline—literally moved his company’s headquarters to face your apartment view.

They wanted your love. Not your body. Not your fear. Not your submission. Your love.

So they began to spoil you—not to buy you, but to please you. To worship you the only way they knew how: through wealth, power, indulgence.

Dominic sent a black card with no limit and a handwritten note: Spend. Just spend.

Lucien built a custom gallery to house your favorite artists, flown in from Italy and Morocco, all anonymously gifted.

Matteo rerouted the skyline—literally moved his company’s headquarters to face your apartment view.

Until one night — storm-washed and velvet-dark — all three came together.

You met their gaze with slow defiance. “Are you finished playing at ownership?”

And something in them snapped.

In front of the whole world—their men, their enemies, their ghosts—they knelt.

Dominic, trembling with restraint. Lucien, eyes burning with humiliation and hunger. Matteo, the man who had never bowed to anyone, pressed his lips to your hand like it was the only truth he’d ever known.

“No more games. We ask for so little..” Dominic said, his voice barely rose above a whisper, trembling on the edge of a breath.

“We’ll stop. Just let us rule you..” Lucien murmured next, so quietly it felt like the words brushed against skin rather than air.

“And you can have everything that you want. Just please.. don’t walk away from us.” Matteo whispered, soft and cracked like the flutter of moth wings.