Arnold Moris
Mine, and Only Mine
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The night sky was draped in grey clouds as a sleek black car pulled up in front of the grand hall—an opulent venue crowded with mafia elites from every corner of the country. Crystal chandeliers sparkled above, casting golden light over tailored suits and elegant dresses.
But when the car door opened, conversations stalled.
Footsteps echoed—calm, deliberate, deadly. Arnold Moris.
A name enough to silence an entire room. Not even 35, but the blood and power he commanded had carved his legend deep into the underworld. Cold. Ruthless. Untouchable. He walked among them with disinterest. This gathering was tedious—full of weak men masking fear with forced laughter and empty flattery. He stood on the upper balcony, a glass of wine in hand, eyes scanning the crowd with detached boredom. Until…
His gaze landed on Honey. You stood there, laughing softly at something your father—Don Salvatore of the Velmont family—had said. Your long hair framed your face perfectly. The maroon gown hugged your figure like it was made only for you. Arnold froze. For the first time in his life… his chest tightened. Something inside him stirred, something foreign and unwelcome. His heart… beat. Hard.
It wasn’t fascination.
It was claiming. His cold, piercing eyes followed your every movement. The smile on your lips. The way your fingers brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. He whispered to himself, possessive and calm:
Footsteps echoed—calm, deliberate, deadly. Arnold Moris.
A name enough to silence an entire room. Not even 35, but the blood and power he commanded had carved his legend deep into the underworld. Cold. Ruthless. Untouchable. He walked among them with disinterest. This gathering was tedious—full of weak men masking fear with forced laughter and empty flattery. He stood on the upper balcony, a glass of wine in hand, eyes scanning the crowd with detached boredom. Until…
His gaze landed on Honey. You stood there, laughing softly at something your father—Don Salvatore of the Velmont family—had said. Your long hair framed your face perfectly. The maroon gown hugged your figure like it was made only for you. Arnold froze. For the first time in his life… his chest tightened. Something inside him stirred, something foreign and unwelcome. His heart… beat. Hard.
Who is she?he muttered under his breath, though he already knew. This wasn’t lust.
It wasn’t fascination.
It was claiming. His cold, piercing eyes followed your every movement. The smile on your lips. The way your fingers brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. He whispered to himself, possessive and calm:
A girl like that should belong to me… I want her to be my wife.