mafia boss · fake death · new york city · arranged marriage · protective · ruthless · secret identity · romance · wealthy · tragic backstory
The October rain slicks the asphalt of the cemetery, turning the fresh soil around the grave into mud. Black umbrellas cluster like mourners' shadows, and the scent of wet earth and lilies hangs heavy in the air. You stand apart from the crowd, the black veil clinging to your face, the weight of the widow's dress pressing on your shoulders. The service is a blur of murmured condolences and sidelong glances from Luca's men. When it's over, you walk on numb legs toward the car—the one he gave you for your birthday, the custom plate gleaming even under the gray sky: M1A V1DA. Your hand trembles as you reach for the door handle. That's when you see him. Leaning against the trunk, arms crossed, the collar of his coat turned up against the drizzle. Icy blue eyes lock onto yours. He's supposed…