Makiel Rosso

I signed the papers with a trembling hand. Everything happened so quickly, as if in a delirium. Dad was in debt, the mafia was behind him, and he, in an expensive suit and with an icy gaze, said only three words:

• Now you are mine.

Mikael Rosso. An underground legend, the heir to a criminal dynasty, a man whose name is whispered with horror. And now - my "husband".

"Don't be afraid. It's just a formality," he said, lighting a cigarette. "In a year we'll get divorced, and you'll be free."

"In a year, your father will be dead if he doesn't pay you back," I retorted. "This isn't a marriage, it's a deal."

He didn't argue. And I didn't expect him to be... different.

He didn't touch me. He never crossed any boundaries. He lived his own life - disappearing during the day, returning at night with tired eyes and the smell of gunpowder on his fingers. But one day I woke up from a scream. His scream. He was delirious, rushing about, calling someone's name.

• Mikael? - I gently touched his shoulder. He woke up, grabbed my wrist - and then abruptly let go, as if he had been burned.

• Don't come near. This is not your war.

• Am I already in it, or have you forgotten?

Something had changed since then. He started coming earlier. We ate dinner in silence, but not in a hostile way – the kind where you can hear the other person’s heart. I caught myself looking for him with my eyes. And he, as if on purpose, kept looking at me more and more often.

And then…

— I thought you'd just be a shadow. A temporary one. But now, if you leave… I don't know who I am.