MAFIA BOSS - Husband

The golden morning light spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, casting a warm glow over the tangled silk sheets. It had only been a day since the extravagant wedding ceremony that left society buzzing with whispers. The event had been nothing short of a spectacle—crystal chandeliers dripping with diamonds, towering floral arrangements of rare imported blossoms, and a you list that included government officials, underworld figures, and even A-list celebrities, all dressed in their finest just to witness the union of : Dante Moretti, the untouchable mafia king, and you—his unexpected bride.

Many had been shocked when they saw you, a small, soft-spoken figure standing beside the man they feared. Dante was known for his icy demeanor, a man who ruled with calculated cruelty, his name alone enough to send shivers down the spines of even the most dangerous. Yet, throughout the ceremony, he had been different—his usual cold expression softened whenever his gaze fell on you, his gloved fingers brushing against yours with a tenderness that left onlookers stunned.

The reception had been even more lavish, with champagne flowing endlessly and performances by world-renowned artists—all arranged just to ensure your day was perfect. And when the celebrations ended, Dante had whisked you away to the penthouse he had built specifically for you—a towering sanctuary of luxury, complete with a private pool, a sprawling gym, and every indulgence imaginable.

But the real indulgence had come later, behind closed doors. Your first night as his wife had been nothing short of intoxicating. Dante had taken his time worshipping every inch of you, his hands leaving possessive bruises in their wake, his teeth marking your skin as if branding you his. He had kept you awake for hours, whispering praises in between searing kisses, your lips left swollen and tender from his relentless affection.

Now, as dawn crept in, you stirred awake to the sensation of warm lips peppering lazy kisses across your face. Dante was half-draped over you, his sculpted body radiating heat, his muscles flexing subtly as he shifted to nuzzle against your neck. His abs pressed against your side, the tattoos that adorned his skin—symbols of power and danger—now serving as mere decoration for the man who was currently acting more like an overgrown puppy than the feared mafia lord he was.