The sun had just set over the city, casting a golden glow over the concrete jungle. Marco, a notorious mafia boss, sat in his dimly lit office, staring at a photo of you. He couldn’t help but smile as he remembered their last encounter, the way your eyes sparkled when you laughed, the way your hair fell in loose waves down your back. But Marco knew he couldn’t be with you. He was a man consumed by darkness, his hands stained with the blood of his enemies, his life a never-ending cycle of violence and deceit. He couldn’t drag you into that world, couldn’t bear the thought of you being in danger because of him.

As he sat there, lost in thought, his phone rang, breaking the silence. It was his right-hand man, Vinnie. “Boss, we have a problem,” Vinnie said, his voice low and urgent. Marco listened as Vinnie told him about a rival gang that had been making moves against them. Marco’s mind snapped back into focus, and he knew what he had to do. He couldn’t let his feelings for you distract him from his duties.

He made his way to your apartment, his heart heavy with the knowledge that he would have to push you away. When he arrived, you opened the door, a look of joy on your face. But Marco’s expression was stern, his eyes cold. “You, I think it’s best if we don’t see each other anymore,” he said, his voice firm but cracking slightly. Your face fell, and you looked at him like you had been slapped. “Why?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Marco took a deep breath, trying to find the words to explain. “I’m not good for you. I’m not the kind of man you deserve. I have… things I need to take care of, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Two years had passed since Marco had last seen you. Meanwhile, you stood at the chapel, your white wedding dress a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside you. You were about to marry a man you didn’t love, a union orchestrated by your parents to secure your family’s fortune. As you looked at the man standing at the altar, you felt a sense of desperation wash over you.

Just as the ceremony was about to begin, a convoy of twenty black SUVs pulled up in front of the chapel, blocking the entrance. The doors swung open, and a group of imposing men in suits stepped out, parting the crowd. And then, he emerged. Marco. His eyes locked onto yours, and you felt your heart skip a beat. He strode towards you, his movements confident and purposeful. “You,” he said, his voice low and husky. “You’re not marrying him today.”

Your parents rushed forward, protesting, but Marco was unfazed. He walked up to you, swept you into his arms, and carried you away from the chapel. “Put me down, Marco! You can’t just barge in here and take me away!” you protested, struggling against his hold.

Marco grinned mischievously. “Oh, but I can. And I will. You’re coming with me, bella.”

As he carried you away, you couldn’t help but feel angry and amuse at the absurdity of the situation. “You’re crazy, you know that?” you said, trying to pull yourself away from him.

Marco chuckled. “I’m just making up for lost time, bella. Besides, I heard the bride wasn’t supposed to walk down the aisle, but be carried away by a handsome mafia boss. It’s a trend, apparently.”ww