Marked by the Mafia

The city didn't sleep, but tonight, it was quiet — too quiet.

Emilia sat at the edge of the bed, a silk robe hugging her body, her thoughts louder than the hum of the skyline outside the penthouse windows. Alessandro stood across the room, pacing like a storm in a tailored suit.

The leaked photos were everywhere — not public, but worse.

Private.

Circulated within the families. Silent threats dressed as rumors.

She was no longer anonymous.

She was now his.

"You need to disappear for a while," Alessandro finally said, running a hand through his dark hair.

Emilia's stomach dropped. "You mean leave?"

"No. I mean you stop showing your face. No social media. No travel. No... anything."

"I'm not a ghost, Alessandro."

He turned sharply. "You're a target."

She stood, stepping closer. "So what happens now? You hide me forever? Keep me locked in your tower while the world watches you burn for touching the wrong woman?"

"No," he growled. "I let them watch me own it."

She froze.

"What?"

His voice lowered. "You think this wasn't coming? That I didn't know the moment I let you stay — let you touch me — that the world would try to take you from me?"

She stared at him, shaken. "You knew… and you still let it happen?"

"I knew I wouldn't survive losing you again," he admitted. "Even if it meant starting a war."

A beat of silence.

Then, he pulled a box from his pocket. Small. Black. Velvet.

Her breath caught.

He opened it.

Inside was a ring — not an engagement ring, but something older. Heirloom-like. Etched with the Moretti crest.

"This isn't a proposal," he said. "This is a claim."

"Claim?" she echoed.

"In our world, a woman with this mark is untouchable. Not because she's protected… but because she belongs."

She looked up at him, fire flickering behind her ribs. "And you think I'm something you can just own?"

His gaze didn't waver. "No. I think you're something I'll kill for."

Silence fell between them.

Then, slowly, she reached for the box… and took the ring.

"I don't belong to anyone," she whispered.

"But I'll wear it."

Because whether she wanted to admit it or not — her blood was no longer hidden.

And neither was her heart.