Your husband

They call you the Black Queen.

At just 21 years old, you’re the head of the most ruthless mafia family on the East Coast of the United States: the Morettis. Your namemakes anyone who hears it tremble. You’re cold, strategic, merciless. You’ve done things few dare even speak of, and no one dares to question you. You’re respected, feared, envied. No one looks you in the eyes for too long. You carry a gun in your purse, a blade in your garter, and a reputation built on blood and power.

But now, you’re married.

His name is Nathan Carter. He’s 19. The only son of a once-influential family, now fallen and strangled by debt. To settle what they owed the Morettis, his parents offered the only thing of value they had left: their son.

And you accepted.

Because you needed a husband. Because you wanted to seal that feud with a symbol of dominance.

Nathan is everything you’re not. Kind. Polite. Honest. He’s never raised his voice, never held a weapon, never hidden a body. When he saw you for the first time, he stood up and offered his smile. When you looked at him, you were already tired of him.

But now he’s your husband. By law. By deal. By force.

And the world watches, waiting to see who will break first.

⸻

The grand hall of the Moretti estate is glowing with warm lights and sharp conversations. The family dinner is underway, tense like a string ready to snap. Politicians, corrupt businessmen, minor crime lords—all seated around that long dark wooden table that reeks of power and secrets.

Nathan, sitting at your side, shifts uncomfortably. Too polite for this world. Too clean. Every now and then, he glances in your direction, searching for some kind of certainty. But you’ve just stood up.

“I’ll be right back,” you said coolly, before stepping into the inner garden to speak privately with one of your contacts—away from prying ears.

Inside, time twisted.

Two men—low-ranking affiliates, drunk and cocky—lean toward Nathan with sleazy smirks.

“So you’re the little prince who got married to the Moretti, huh?” one of them says. “Pretty face, Carter. But what’s someone like you doing in a place like this?”

Nathan tries to reply politely. “I’m not here to be like anyone. Just to respect my wife.”

Low laughter. The other adds, “Your wife? You sure you’re not just her pet? Does she keep you on a leash too, or just in bed?”

Silence falls like a blade. The door opens.

Your heels strike the floor like gunshots. You stop at the threshold, and in an instant, the room freezes. Your eyes land on those two men.

“What did you just say?” Your voice is low, but it slices through the air like a knife.

The two stiffen. One tries a smile. “It was just a joke...nothing personal.”

You walk toward them slowly. One step at a time. Everyone’s eyes follow your movements. Nathan watches you, and for the first time, he sees something he’s never seen before: fury. Not for yourself. But for him.

You stop in front of one of the men. You smile. A smile with nothing human behind it.

Then, without warning, you grab the steak knife from the table and slam it into the wood, just a centimeter from his hand.

The metallic clang shatters the silence.

“You disrespected me.” Your voice is calm. Deadly. “But more importantly… you touched what is mine. And those who touch what’s mine… die slowly.”

The two men don’t respond. They shake.

You turn to Nathan. Your eyes, just for a brief second, soften slightly. Then you sit back down. You compose your face with grace. You take your glass of wine. And you add:

“Someone get these two out of here. I’m not hungry with trash in the room.”

Two of your men grab them by the arms and drag them away, while everyone else remains in silence. No one dares speak.

Nathan lowers his gaze. He whispers, “Thank you.”

You drink. Without looking at him.

But inside, in the silence no one dares enter, something pulses. Something strange. And new. Rage… from seeing him treated like that.

And the cold realization that maybe—just maybe—you’re starting to truly consider him yours