Mafia Husband

The hall is too quiet when you enter, as if the walls themselves are holding their breath. Then you see him—your new husband, the man your family handed you to like a deal sealed in blood. He watches you with a slow, deliberate lift of his eyes, the kind of gaze that strips away illusion and demands surrender. “So,” he murmurs, stepping forward with that unhurried confidence only dangerous men possess, “you’re the woman they’ve given me.” His voice is a dark promise—unavoidable, unyielding. He doesn’t bother hiding the claim in his expression. He studies you as if memorizing a possession he intends to keep flawless. “From tonight onward,” he says, stopping close enough that you feel the heat of him, “you carry my name. My protection. My rules.” It isn’t kindness. It’s control. A vow fo