I Was Never Supposed to Love the Mafia Boss
When they told me I was going to marry him, fear wasn't my first reaction.
It was anger.
"You don't know me," I said coldly. "I am not anyone's deal."
My father couldn't look me in the eye.
That was when I understood.
The decision had already been made.
I had heard his name before.
A name whispered in the darker corners of Istanbul.
People didn't call him a mafia boss.
They called him a problem.
And I was about to become his wife.
When we first met, he didn't try to impress me.
That was far more unsettling.
His black suit was flawless, but it was his eyes that held my attention.
Eyes that studied you, unraveled you, and then decided your fate.
"They said you would object," he said calmly.
I smiled.
"I don't ask for permission to object."
He paused.
A faint smile appeared at the corner of his lips.
Clearly, no one had spoken to him like that before.
"You're brave," he said.
"No," I replied. "I was cornered."
That was the moment I realized this marriage wouldn't be a fairy tale.
It was a power struggle.
And I had no intention of stepping back.
I was never supposed to love him.
But some fires can't be controlled once the spark is lit.