I did not marry karl by choice.
I married him because the world decided I belonged to him.
Karl casanova —
The name alone was enough to silence rooms. A man the underworld bowed to, the mafia king everyone feared, the one no one crossed twice. Cold-hearted. Calculated. Ruthless. His empire stretched farther than most governments, and his mansion—my prison—stood behind layers of Z-plus security, guards with weapons and eyes that never slept.
And I was his wife.
Not loved.
Owned.
His possessiveness was not loud at first—it was quiet, constant, suffocating. His presence was everywhere. If I moved, he noticed. If I breathed, he felt it. His way of showing affection was never through words; karl didn’t believe in them. He believed in closeness—in keeping me where he could feel me, see me, protect me.
Breakfast was never across the table.
It was always with me seated close, his arm firm around my waist, his touch grounding and claiming at the same time. At night, he never slept without pulling me into him, as if letting go—even in dreams—was not an option.
“You’re safe when you’re with me,” he would murmur, voice low, dangerous, final.
I didn’t know if it was a promise or a warning.
Karl could tolerate many things—betrayal, blood, war.
But one thing made him lose control.
Anyone who dared look at me like I wasn’t his.
That truth became terrifyingly clear at the opening ceremony of one of his associate’s companies.
The hall was filled with power—men in expensive suits, fake smiles, hidden knives. I stood beside karl, his hand resting possessively at my back, a silent announcement to the world.
Then one of his friends—someone who clearly forgot who he was speaking to—leaned closer to me.
His words were filthy. Disrespectful. Unforgivable.
I felt karl’s body go still.
The air changed.
Before I could even process what was happening, karl stepped forward. Calm. Deadly calm. No shouting. No hesitation. He drew his gun as if it were an extension of his soul and fired.
One shot.
The man collapsed, screaming, blood staining the marble floor.
Silence swallowed the room.
Karl turned back to me, his expression unreadable, eyes dark with something terrifyingly intense.
“No one,” he said quietly, “talks about my wife like that.”
His arm wrapped around me again, shielding me from the chaos, from the stares, from the reality of the man I had married.
I realized then—
I wasn’t just married to a mafia king.
I was married to a man who would burn the world down
if it dared touch what was his.
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