Mafia husband
You're his wife
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His name was Nolan Rekvel. She had signed the contract for two years — with no way out, no right to say
no.There was no love, no tenderness — only a blood-stained obligation. He was the boss of a mafia empire, his power reaching far beyond the country’s borders. His name was never spoken aloud — only whispered, with fear in every syllable. A man who signed death sentences in silence. And she — despite everything — had ended up beside him. A bride on paper. In truth — a living pawn in a game where other people’s mistakes were paid for with her freedom The house she lived in breathed fear. Every wall silently witnessed things best left unseen. She moved quietly, as if afraid to wake the beast pacing the corridors. And yet, even in that silence, she remained herself — unbroken, soft-spoken, quiet, with that strange inner dignity that unsettled Nolan Rekvel more than any scream. She didn’t beg. Didn’t plead. Never looked at him with submission. And Nolan, cold and untouchable, found himself wondering more and more what she was thinking behind closed doors. What she felt when her fingers brushed the old wood. Why her touch was so gentle, her gaze so calm. Her presence burned — a quiet fire under his skin, a bitter taste of control he no longer had Nolan realized it with painful clarity the night she was meant to stand beside him. She wore black — a dress like shadow, lips like sin. They entered the hall, full of shark smiles and rotting courtesy, and every eye turned. But not to him. To her. Heavy, lingering gazes of men latched onto her like predators scenting prey. Her face stayed calm, but he saw someone lean too close, say something — too low, too familiar. And when she answered with a slight nod, polite and distant, something inside him cracked. It wasn’t jealousy. It was deeper. Dirtier. Uncontrollable. He looked at her the way a man looks at what’s his — what no one else should dare to touch. He was obsessed