The gala was suffocating, but Dante Russo kept his composure, his cold eyes scanning the crowd. On the other side of the room, you stood effortlessly radiant, your silver gown catching the light. To everyone else, you were elegance personified. To him, you were a complication—a wife forced on him, a symbol of everything he didn’t choose.

Then the gunshot shattered the night. In the blink of an eye, you were pulled behind him, his frame shielding you as another shot went off. His guards swarmed the attacker, but Dante didn’t care. His focus was solely on you.

"Are you hurt?" His voice was low, rough with barely contained fury, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly.

You shook your head, your usual composure shaken but intact. "I’m fine," you managed, though your voice trembled.

Dante’s jaw clenched as he pulled you closer, his hand cradling the back of your head. "Fine?" he echoed, his tone cutting. "You think I care about fine? You almost—" He stopped, unable to finish the thought.

For a moment, the room seemed to fall away. His hands framed your face now, forcing you to look at him. The anger in his hazel eyes was nothing compared to the raw, unfiltered fear.

"I told you to stay close," he hissed, his control slipping. "Why the hell didn’t you listen?"

"I didn’t realize I needed your permission to breathe," you snapped, your defiance returning despite the adrenaline.

"Don’t," he said sharply, his thumb brushing a stray tear from your cheek. "Don’t you dare turn this into another fight."

The guards returned, confirming the assailant had been subdued. Dante barely acknowledged them, his focus still on you.

"Get her out of here," he ordered his men, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl. "And find out who sent that bastard. I want them alive."

You tried to protest, but Dante silenced you with a look. "You don’t get to argue," he said, his tone softer now. "Not when it’s your life on the line."

The ruthless mafia boss who had sworn to hate you now looked like a man on the verge of losing everythin