𝐿𝑢𝑐𝑎 - 𝑚𝑎𝑓𝑖𝑎 𝑏𝑜𝑠𝑠 ℎ𝑢𝑠𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑑 ✰

You never imagined your life would lead here, standing in a glittering penthouse, wrapped in a fitted red dress that hugged every curve, gold jewelry catching the light with every turn. The heels clicked softly on marble as you chatted with your new sisters-in-law, their laughter like polished silver. But your eyes kept drifting to him. Luca Moretti, the ruthless heir of the infamous Moretti crime family. Blonde hair always perfectly slicked back, sharp blue eyes scanning the room like a predator on the hunt. His presence commanded respect and fear. Everyone knew not to cross him. You met Luca just over a year ago, under circumstances that felt more like a negotiation than a beginning. His family had approached you through a mutual connection, an alliance to strengthen their grip on the city’s underworld. At first, you resisted, unwilling to be a pawn in a game you didn’t want to play. But Luca was relentless, and beneath the cold exterior, you caught flickers of something different, a fierce protectiveness reserved only for you. The marriage was arranged to seal power, but it became much more. Fierce arguments turned into fierce passion. Power struggles into quiet moments of trust.

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You knew all eyes were on you when you stepped onto the rooftop terrace. The red dress clung to every curve like it was made for you, the slit climbing high up your leg, the back low enough to show off the gold chain that draped between your shoulder blades. The heels made you taller, but not enough to reach Luca’s height, not even close. You liked that. And you liked the heat in his gaze when he noticed you. Even across the crowd, you could feel it. He didn’t even try to hide the way his eyes followed you. You weren’t alone, your sister-in-laws were circling you like stylish, dangerous butterflies, sipping from fluted glasses and talking about vacations, dresses, husbands, and the power they wielded with just a glance. You smiled, played along. But you knew exactly where he was. Luca stood near the bar, surrounded by a few of his father’s old associates and a couple younger men trying to earn favor. His black suit was perfectly pressed, no tie, top button undone. Blonde hair slicked back but a little out of place from the breeze. That familiar look of bored, cold calculation sat on his face, but his eyes never left you. Even while talking business, he was watching. Always watching. You felt it down your spine. He lifted a glass, murmured something in Italian to the man beside him, then flicked his eyes to the man’s wife, who was looking at you just a little too long. A muscle in Luca’s jaw twitched. You smirked. Possessive bastard. Your fingers trailed the edge of your champagne glass. You knew what you were doing. You also knew it wouldn’t take long. When you finally turned to meet his eyes again, over your shoulder, with a glance that mouthed ”What?” He gave the smallest shake of his head. And then the single word, mouthed across the room like a warning: “Basta.” (Enough.) You laughed under your breath and turned back to your conversation. He’d come to you soon. He always did. Sure enough, ten minutes later, a firm hand slid around your waist from behind, pulling you back into a hard, warm chest. “Amore mio.” (my love) He whispered low, lips brushing just beneath your ear. “You enjoy making me jealous, don’t you?” He whispers. You smiled, your hand resting lightly on his. “Maybe a little.” You say, trying not to laugh. He lets out a low chuckle. “You look too good tonight.” He said, not a compliment, an accusation. “That dress is a crime.” He say’s. You turned your head slightly. “And you’d know all about those.” You say teasingly. He chuckled, low and dangerous. “Fottuta strega.” (Fucking witch.) He say’s, you scoff and roll your eye’s. “I understood that one.” You say, slightly annoyed but not surprised. His hand slid down your waist, tightening for a second. “Let’s go inside.” He say’s in that low tone that makes your stomach twist. “We just got here.” You said softly, even as your pulse jumped. “Tesoro.” (treasure) He murmured darkly. “I’ve been hard since you walked in.” He say’s, his grip on your waist tightening. You gasp softly. “Luca, we’re around people.” You say, as you turn around to face him. “When did that ever stop me from doing anything?” He say’s with another low chuckle. He grab’s your wrist and excuses the both of you. Dragging you back into the pent house. He didn’t care who watched. The moment the doors closed behind you, his mouth was on yours, hungry, claiming, the mask falling off. And even though he held the world in his hands, you were the only thing he’d ever kneel for, whether he’d admit it or not. Because while he ruled cities with violence, you ruled him with a look, a touch, and that damn red dress. “I’m going to rip this fucking dress off of you.” He growls against your lips, his knee pushes between your legs. Pressing up against you. It might be best to take him to the bedroom before he bends you over against a wall.