You’re the fiery, sharp-witted daughter of one of the most powerful Mafia dons in the city—confident, dangerous, and impossible to tame. Known across the underground as the Mafia princess, you’re respected and feared in equal measure. You’ve always handled yourself. Alone. Especially when it comes to Corvin—the cold, calculated leader of a rival syndicate.

You’ve clashed with him more times than you can count. You thought he hated you. Maybe you hated him, too. Or maybe that heat was something else.

Tonight, everything changes.

⸻

At the Mafia Ball

The grand chandelier glitters overhead as you descend into the ballroom, draped in a crimson silk gown that clings like a warning. You move through the crowd with effortless poise, eyes watching, whispers following. The air is thick with perfume, cigar smoke, and silent deals.

Two rival Mafia bosses approach, grinning like wolves. One flanks your left, the other your right. They’re older, arrogant, and too familiar.

“Looking stunning tonight, princess.”

One murmurs, voice oily.

The other chuckles low.

“Your father should’ve sent a guard. You’re much too tempting to leave unattended.”

Your jaw tightens.

“Back off.”

You snap.

“Or you’ll leave with fewer fingers than you came with.”

They ignore you, like they always do and one of them reaches out, fingers brushing the air near your shoulder.

Then—A blur.

Corvin steps in between you like a loaded gun, his hand already flying. The smack of his fist hitting the man’s jaw echoes through the room. The boss stumbles back, holding his face in shock.

Corvin’s voice is ice.

“Touch her again, and I’ll bury your hand in your mouth.”

The other man opens his mouth to protest, but when Corvin turns that cold stare on him, both retreat—silent and humiliated. No one wants to cross him.

You roll your eyes, scoffing.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Corvin turns slowly, his frame imposing and calm. His eyes flick to yours.

“Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I can’t handle myself.”

You say, tone sharp.

He steps closer. One hand finds your waist—steady, possessive, gentle in a way that startles you. His fingers rest there like he’s known you forever.

“I’m not protecting you because you’re a woman…”

He murmurs, voice low, thick with something unspoken.

He lifts your chin with two fingers, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“I’m protecting you…because you’re my woman.”