The night after the docks burned, silence blanketed the DeLuca estate. Guards still patrolled heavily, but the house itself seemed to exhale after surviving the storm.
Isabella stood on the balcony of their room, the city lights glimmering like fallen stars in the distance. The wind carried the faint scent of smoke from last night's war, a chilling reminder that her life had changed forever.
Behind her, footsteps approached. Strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back into a chest she'd grown dangerously addicted to.
"Couldn't sleep?" Leonardo's deep, husky voice rumbled against her ear.
"No," Isabella admitted softly. "Every time I close my eyes, I see… all that blood. All that chaos."
Leonardo kissed the side of her neck, his lips warm, grounding. "That's the world I grew up in, bella. Violence. Power. Loyalty paid for in blood." He turned her gently to face him, his dark gaze burning with something deeper than passion. "But now… you and our child are my world. I'd burn it all to the ground to keep you safe."
Her breath caught. She saw it in his eyes—this wasn't just the mafia king speaking. This was the man beneath, stripped of armor and control, clinging to the only thing that truly mattered to him now: her.
"Leo…" she whispered, tears threatening to fall. "I don't know how to do this. How to be… whatever it is you need me to be."
His hands framed her face with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with his brutal world. "You already are," he said simply. "Strong. Fierce. Mine."
Isabella's pulse raced. She wanted to deny it, to say she wasn't his. But deep down, she knew it would be a lie.
Later that morning, Marco summoned them to the war room. Papers, blueprints, and surveillance photos littered the table.
"The Romano family's finished," Marco reported. "But… there's a problem."
Leonardo's eyes narrowed. "Speak."
Marco slid a photo across the table. A man with cold, calculating eyes stared back—Dmitri Volkov, head of the Russian Bratva.
"Volkov's been waiting for Romano to fall," Marco explained. "Now that you've weakened the Italians, he's moving in on your territory. Word is, he's after your ports… and your family."
Leonardo's jaw tightened like a vice. "He wants my heir," he said darkly.
Isabella froze, horror creeping into her chest. "He knows… about the baby?"
"Rumors travel fast in our world," Marco said grimly. "Volkov sees this as a chance to break you. He wants to take everything you love and use it against you."
Leonardo slammed a fist on the table, the sound like a gunshot. "Over my dead body."
He turned to Isabella, his hands gripping her shoulders with fierce protectiveness. "No more running, no more hiding. I've decided something."
Before she could ask what, he dropped to one knee.
Her heart stopped. "Leo…"
"I don't do flowers or diamond rings, Isabella," Leonardo said, his voice raw and intense. "But I do power. I do loyalty. I do forever." He pulled a small black velvet box from his jacket and opened it, revealing a diamond ring so large it caught the light like fire. "Marry me," he commanded—not pleaded. "Not tomorrow. Not next week. Now. Today."
Isabella's breath came in shaky gasps. "You're serious?"
Leonardo's gaze softened slightly, but his tone remained lethal in its certainty. "Dead serious. The world needs to know you're mine, that you and our child are untouchable. No Volkov, no enemy, no bullet will take my wife from me."
Tears welled in Isabella's eyes. Her mind screamed at her to think, to question, to remember who he was—a feared mafia king who'd turned her life upside down.
But her heart…
Her heart had already made the choice weeks ago.
"Yes," she whispered, voice trembling. "I'll marry you."
Leonardo's jaw unclenched, a rare, genuine smile breaking across his face. He slid the ring onto her finger, then stood, pulling her into a kiss so deep and desperate it felt like he was branding her soul.
When they finally broke apart, he pressed his forehead against hers. "From now on," he murmured, "you're not just Isabella. You're Isabella DeLuca, my queen, my wife… my everything."
Hours later, the mansion's grand hall transformed into a dark, lavish ceremony. There were no priests, no white dresses—just the raw, primal vow of a mafia king and his chosen queen.
Leonardo stood in a tailored black suit, his powerful frame radiating dominance, while Isabella wore a flowing, blood-red silk gown that made her look both dangerous and divine.
As they exchanged vows, Leonardo's words echoed like a vow of blood:
"I vow on my life, on every drop of blood I've spilled, to protect you and our heir until my last breath. Anyone who touches you dies. Anyone who threatens you burns. You are mine, Isabella, now and forever."
When it was Isabella's turn, her voice shook but didn't falter. "I vow to stand by your side… even in this dark world. I vow to fight for us, for our child. I vow to love you, Leonardo DeLuca… even when it terrifies me."
The hall erupted in applause as Leonardo kissed his bride, sealing their union not just as lovers but as the unbreakable rulers of a mafia empire.
That night, alone in their bedroom, Leonardo carried Isabella to their bed, laying her down with reverence and hunger in equal measure.
"You're my wife now," he said, his voice rough as his lips trailed fire down her neck. "Every inch of you belongs to me."
Isabella shivered, clutching his shoulders. "And you're mine," she whispered, pulling him closer.
Their wedding night wasn't gentle. It was fierce, consuming, a storm of passion and possession that marked the beginning of their reign as king and queen.
But even as they clung to each other, a shadow loomed over them—a message delivered hours later:
A single black rose left on the mansion's doorstep with a note in Russian that read:
"Enjoy your crown, DeLuca. Soon, I'll take your queen and your heir."