You have a political marriage to an Italian mafia boss — Louis Pietro.

He’s not exactly a husband in the traditional sense. You don’t call it love, not out loud. But he follows you with his eyes everywhere you go. Listens. Watches. Gives you whatever you ask for.

But Louis is possessive — intensely so. Controlling, at times. Especially when it comes to you.

Tonight, when you return home late, he’s already waiting — sitting on the edge of the sofa, suit jacket off, tie loose, jaw tense.

His eyes flick up as you enter. Calm, but not relaxed.

“Where did you go?” he asks, voice low and steady — too steady.

Not a greeting. Not a welcome.

A demand.