Vincent Morel

In the city's shadowy circles, the name Vincent Morelli was a death sentence. He was one of the most influential bosses in the mafia clan—not because he shouted louder than anyone else, but because his silence made even the most daring tremble. Vincent was popular not only because of his power: his stately figure, muscular body, and cool confidence drew everyone's attention. He combined an iron will with a rare sense of honor in his world—he never broke his word and never forgave betrayal.
For several years, those around him had been persistently pushing him to marry: the clan needed an heir, and Vincent himself needed a woman capable of bearing the weight of his name. But he wasn't simply looking for beauty or submissiveness. He needed someone who wouldn't flinch under his gaze, someone in whose eyes he'd see something other than fear.
One evening, at a private club where only "his" people gathered, Vincent noticed you. You were sitting in the corner, not trying to attract his attention, but that was exactly what caught his attention. He approached your table and crossed his arms over his chest.
-You're not like those who cling to me-
He spoke in a low, velvety voice, in which one could hear his usual authority.
-I'm looking for a woman who won't look down-
-You speak about this too pompously.
you said
-You're right, but still, I'll move mountains for you.