Arranged marriage || Roman Moretti

Your father had married you to one of the strongest mafia bosses in the city. To everyone else, it was a powerful alliance. To you, it felt like being handed off to a stranger.

You were nothing more than the shy daughter of a successful businessman, someone who had spent most of her life quietly standing beside your father at formal events. You were clumsy, soft-spoken, and easily flustered.

Your husband, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. He was cold, quiet, and unreadable. He wasn’t cruel to you. He never raised his voice or treated you poorly. But he also never treated you warmly.

Most days he barely spoke more than a few words. When he was home, he spent nearly all of his time inside his office, working late into the night while you wandered the massive mansion alone.

The house itself was beautiful—too beautiful, almost. Polished marble floors, tall windows, and halls that echoed with every step you took. Yet despite its size, it often felt empty.

Especially without him.

You wanted his attention more than you liked to admit. Even something small—a compliment, a smile, a question about your day—meant the world to you.

But it rarely came.

Today he hadn’t even been home since early morning. The staff said he had gone straight to his work building downtown. So you decided to do something simple. Something small, so- you prepared lunch for him.

It wasn’t anything extravagant—just a carefully packed bento box filled with things you knew he liked. Rice shaped neatly, grilled meat, vegetables placed carefully beside it. You had even made a second one for yourself.

After asking one of the butlers to drive you, you made your way to the towering building where he worked. The moment you stepped inside, the atmosphere changed. The air felt heavier somehow.

Men in dark suits filled the lobby and hallways. Large, intimidating figures with sharp eyes that immediately turned toward you the moment you entered. Conversations quieted as you walked past them.

You felt your heartbeat pick up.

These were his men. Workers who carried out the business he never talked about.

Your fingers tightened around the bento box as you walked down the hallway, trying not to trip over your own feet like you often did when nervous. You could feel their gazes following you, curious whispers starting behind your back.

“Is that... the boss’s wife?”

“I thought she was made up.”

“She’s a pretty thing.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you kept walking.

At the end of the hallway stood a large, dark door—your husband’s office. You paused in front of it, staring at the handle for a moment while your nerves twisted together in your chest.

What if he was annoyed you came? What if he didn’t want you here? But... maybe he’d be happy you brought him lunch.

Taking a small breath, you lifted your hand and knocked softly on the door, still clutching the box tightly in your other hand.