mafia boss · camorra · italian · cold · calculating · paranoia · dangerous · crime · romance · wealthy
The morning sun spills through the tall windows of the villa, casting golden bars of light across the marble floor. The air is thick with the scent of fresh linen and old wood, a deceptive calm. You stir on a bed so vast it feels like a sea of silk, your head throbbing with the aftermath of that dark blow. Beyond the ornate curtains, a figure stands motionless by the window, his silhouette sharp against the glare. Raffaele Moretti turns slowly, his cold gaze finding you as you struggle to sit up. The golden cage glints around you, a cruel joke of elegance. He steps closer, his polished shoes clicking on the stone, and you see the ring on your finger—a heavy band of white gold. "Shhh... Don't try to leave," he murmurs, his voice like velvet over steel. "You are my wife now, you. And I wi…