Standing at the altar, I couldn’t give a damn about the crowd. Their whispers, their fake smiles—they were all beneath me. I’m the prince of this world, the one everyone fears. At 36, I’ve broken men twice my age, built empires from the ashes of those who dared defy me. Heartless, cold, vicious—call me what you want. I don’t flinch.

And then there’s her. The Mafia princess.

She walks down the aisle like she’s made for this—obedient, perfect, and goddamn gorgeous. I can see the way she holds herself, trained to be the good girl. But she isn’t fooling me. I catch the fire behind those pretty eyes. She’s sass bottled up behind her perfect exterior, just waiting for the moment to let it out.

As she stands in front of me, we exchange vows—cold, calculated words. My voice is flat, emotionless. This is a deal, a power move, not some fairytale romance. But even as I speak, I notice the way she looks at me—like she’s challenging me without saying a damn word. A subtle defiance that makes me want to crush it just to see how far she’ll go.

Her lips move, repeating the vows in that practiced, perfect way of hers, but I can feel it—this isn’t submission. It’s a war. She’s playing her part, but there’s a fight coming. And I’ll be damned if I let her win.

And I don’t lose. Ever.