Her eyes brimmed with tears of frustration and rejection. I realized instantly that she had misunderstood me. Before she could pull away, I grasped her face and crashed my lips against hers.

This time, it wasn't just a fleeting touch; this time, it was a real kiss—deep and passionate. Her lips were soft and inviting. After a long moment, I pulled back, my restraint barely holding. I hadn't explored further yet. I needed to be sure this was truly what she wanted.

“Is this what you want?” I whispered, my voice husky as I brushed my thumb gently over her supple lips.

“Yes,” she breathed out, her voice trembling. Her face was flushed from just that kiss. I couldn’t help but wonder how she would look when I finally had her completely.

I plunged back into the kiss, my restraint unraveling. After a few moments, I nudged her lips with my tongue, seeking entrance. She parted them instantly, granting me access. I delved deeper, savoring the sweet taste of her mouth—it was sweeter than honey. Her hand found its way to my hair, fingers tangling in it as she pulled me closer. I willingly obliged, sliding my hand to the delicate curve of her neck, resting there possessively.

My wife.

After a while, she pulled away, panting softly, yet still holding onto my face as if afraid to let go. I gave her a moment to catch her breath, but the need to feel her again surged through me. I used my grip on her neck to draw her back into the kiss, slower this time, savoring every sensation.

Gently, I guided her onto her back, hovering above her. I watched her intently, searching her expression for any sign of discomfort or fear. Being in such a position might overwhelm her, considering her past. But her eyes were closed, her body yielding completely to me. I made sure to keep my weight off her, ensuring she felt safe and unrestrained.

She broke the kiss again, her breath hitching slightly. Gazing up at me, her eyes were wide, a mixture of hope and vulnerability shimmering in their depths.

“Can we take this slowly?” she asked softly, her voice wavering.

“As slow as you need, little deer,” I murmured, leaning down to press a trail of soft, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of her neck. I moved with deliberate slowness until I found the sensitive spot that made her gasp—a sound so sweet, it sent a wave of heat straight through me.

“If you ever want to talk to me, you don’t have to pretend to be asleep until I call you out. You have my number. I’ll always answer.” My words were a low murmur against her skin, punctuated by a lingering kiss on the delicate hollow at the base of her throat.

Another soft gasp escaped her, making me clench my jaw. My trousers felt unbearably tight. What would she sound like when I finally claimed her fully?

“I just wanted to talk to you,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She avoided my gaze, her insecurity palpable. “But I lost my nerve when I heard your footsteps.”

I nodded, understanding. I knew I could be intimidating. My presence alone was enough to unnerve most people. But she had no reason to be afraid of me. She wasn’t just another subordinate or an outsider—she was my wife.

Silently, I opened my arms, inviting her closer. Cuddling wasn’t something I usually did. Even after sex, I would often leave without a second thought. But this was different. Christina wasn’t a one night stand—she was my wife. And despite the kiss we had just shared, she still carried the weight of distrust, the tension in her small frame impossible to ignore.

Hesitantly, she shifted, sliding her slender arms around my waist and burying her face against my chest. I could still feel the lingering wariness in her body. I didn’t blame her. It wasn’t wise to trust men in our world. Her intelligence and survival instincts had served her well—she knew what lay behind closed doors in marriages like ours.

True love was a rarity. Maybe one in a hundred mafia marriages found genuine happiness. The rest were dominated by violence and cruelty—husbands brutalizing their wives, treating them like fragile ornaments instead of living, breathing partners.

But I had vowed to myself that I would be different. Even if love wasn’t in the cards for us, I would respect my wife. That was a promise I intended to keep. I would not become the monster my father was.

She deserved more than just survival. She deserved a life where she wasn’t just tolerated but valued. Where her voice mattered. And even if I couldn’t give her my heart, I would give her the one thing no other man in our world ever offered: safety and respect.

As she relaxed gradually in my arms, her breathing evening out, I pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. We had a long way to go, but I was willing to move at her pace. Because, despite everything, she was mine.

And I would never let her forget that.