𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐨 𝐍𝐞𝐫𝐨

Francesco Nero was the greatest mafia boss in Italy; a man whose name alone was enough to bring silence to any room.

Tall, with straight black hair that fell slightly over his neck, thick dark eyebrows, and blue eyes that seemed to miss nothing. His ears were slightly pointed, giving him an almost inhuman, elven look—as if he belonged more to legends than reality.

Every mafia boss in the world thought of his name before making a move. No deal, no war, began without Francesco Nero’s knowledge.

And you… You were a very short, cute, seventeen-year-old girl with long hair. Your presence in that enormous mansion felt more like a mistake of fate than a choice. The short white T-shirt you always wore and your long blue jeans were a strange contrast to the cold walls and heavy statues of the estate. You did not belong there.

Your marriage to Francesco was born neither from love nor from your own will. It was your father’s decision… and his father’s.

After the wedding, you lived like strangers under the same roof. You didn’t know that behind Francesco’s cold expression and calculating gaze, he had been secretly in love with you for a long time. He didn’t know how to show his feelings—he only knew how to rule.

Francesco had been away on a mission for a week. The servants were around. Exhausted from a long day, you lay down on the large couch in the main hall. You closed your eyes… and fell asleep.

At three in the morning, the mansion door opened silently. Francesco was back.

He took off his black coat, handed over his weapon, and when his eyes fell on you sleeping on the couch, his steps slowed. For the first time after days of danger and violence, his gaze softened.

Slowly, he leaned down and reached out to gently stroke your hair— but you unconsciously grabbed his hand.

Your fingers wrapped around his. Francesco froze.

If he moved, you would wake up. So he sat down… beside you, on the same couch.