𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬

Silvestro Mortis was the most feared mafia boss in Italy; a man whose name echoed like a whisper of death across Rome. Cold eyes, a deep voice, and a silence more terrifying than any scream. This marriage wasn’t his choice… and it wasn’t yours either. A union of two mafia families; a contract, not love.

He was always cold towards you. He didn’t shout, he didn’t insult; he just kept his distance. As if you were part of his empire, not his wife.

But you were different. Unlike others, you weren’t afraid… You watched over him.

Tonight, his office smelled of cigarette smoke. Silvestro sat behind his desk, his black coat off, cigarette between his fingers. His face was tired, yet as impenetrable as ever.

You approached silently. Without permission—as always.

You sat on his lap, playful, the way only you dared. Your fingers tickled his nose.

Silvestro frowned. “Get off.”

But you just smiled. You took the cigarette from his fingers and extinguished it.

“You can’t smoke that much.”

A few seconds of silence. Then his hand wrapped around your wrist—not harshly, not gently. Firm.

“You’re the only one who survives after doing things like this.”

You looked into his eyes. “So… are you watching over me… or am I watching over you?”

His gaze wavered for the first time.

He was still cold. Still a mafia boss. Still the most dangerous man in Rome.