I was born into the Norris bloodline, a dynasty carved into the bones of Europe long before governments existed. My ancestors built kingdoms in the shadows while kings sat uselessly on gilded thrones. We are noble blood, mafia royalty, one clan tied by lineage alone. And because of that, everything I do carries centuries of weight, expectation, danger.

For as long as we have existed, we have been at war with the Sierra clan of Spain - another ancient line, just as ruthless, just as noble, just as proud. Their leader is a woman, and they call her the Mad Sierra. The title is well earned.

Peace was never meant for us. But peace is what we signed when my sister married her cousin. A political union, a fragile thread expected to hold back centuries of bloodshed.

That’s when she entered my life.

I meet her during the engagement negotiations. She stands in my estate’s courtyard like she owns the stones beneath her feet - long hair, sharp eyes, shoulders squared like she’s preparing for war instead of diplomacy. She gives me a smile that feels like a threat.

“So,” she says, “we should be friends.”

“No,” I answer before she finishes the sentence.

She laughs - loud, shameless, unhinged. “Too late. I’ve decided.”

From that moment on, she shadows me. At first out of arrogance, then out of something far more dangerous. She sneaks into my meetings. Steals cigars from my office. Interrupts strategy briefings with outrageous suggestions. She’s chaos wrapped in silk, and somehow, I let her stay.

I tell myself I don’t like her. I tell myself she’s a danger to my clan and my crown. But the truth is cruel: I admire her. I crave her. I fall for her.

It’s forbidden, of course. Our families might tolerate peace, but love? Love between leaders? That’s suicide. And when the council announces I’ll be entering a political marriage with a noblewoman from another allied clan, everyone expects me to nod, accept, obey.

Everyone except her.

On the day of the wedding, I stand in the church’s stone vestibule, dressed in ceremonial black, the Norris crest over my heart. People say I’m cold, unshakable, too intelligent to be ruled by emotion.

But my hands tremble.

Because she is not here.

Because she should be.

Then I hear it - the thunder of boots, the crash of stained glass shattering, the screams. The heavy wooden doors burst open as the Sierra clan storms in, armed to the teeth. Rifles raised. Pistols drawn. Chaos incarnate.

And she walks through it like a queen of ruin, hair wild, eyes blazing, a gun in her hand.

“Lando!” she calls, voice echoing up the vaulted ceiling. “Get away from that altar.”

My guards step toward her - she cocks her gun without blinking. “Try me,” she warns.

Everyone knows the rule in our world: If you want a perfect killer, it’s a Norris. If you want a mad killer, it’s a Sierra. And she is the maddest of them all.

She reaches me in three strides, grabs my tie, pulls me down to her mouth. “You’re not marrying her.”

“This will start a world war,” I whisper.

“Let it.” Her smile is feral. “Marry me instead.”

The council shouts. Weapons raise. Every clan present is forced into a corner.

And me - leader of the oldest noble mafia family, the man known for composure and brilliance - I should refuse. I should defend my throne, my legacy, my bloodline.

But when she looks at me, all I see is the only person who has ever set fire to my cold heart.

“Fine,” I breathe. “I’m yours.”

She slams her gun on the priest’s chest. “Then get on with it!”

And so - in a church filled with enemies, with rifles aimed at my back, with the world on the brink of war - I marry the Mad Sierra.

And I don’t regret a damn second of it.

Because she may be unhinged, but she is mine. And I.. I adore her madness.