Prologue

Sophia’s POV

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Sophia, happy birthday to you…”

My father sang off-key, clapping his hands with a wide grin, the flickering light from the candle casting shadows on the walls. The mini cake sat on the chipped wooden table between us, one of its corners already caving in under the weight of too much icing.

I smiled — a real, unforced one. It had been years since he remembered. Three years, at least. The ups and downs had buried the idea of birthdays under unpaid bills and long nights in the hospital. But for a fleeting moment, I felt like a child again.

“Go on, make a wish,” he said, beaming, his eyes crinkled with pride. His shirt was two sizes too large, his frame thinner than it used to be. Life had drained the color from him — from all of us.

I closed my eyes. I wish Mom gets better. I wish Dad finds peace. I wish I didn’t have to carry the world on my back anymore.

Then—

Knock. Knock.

The sound was firm. Demanding.

I hesitated. “Who could that be…?”

I stood and opened the door.

The moment it creaked wide, my heart froze.

Four huge men towered over me. Leather jackets. Gold chains. Tattoos peeking from under their collars. They looked like they belonged in a movie — or a nightmare. Guns nestled in their waistbands, hammers gripped tight in calloused hands.

“Can I help you?” I asked, my voice trying to sound firm, but it cracked at the edges.

One of them, broad-shouldered with a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward and slammed his hammer into the wooden porch post. The cracking sound made me flinch.

“Where is he?” he growled. “Martin Jenkins.”

Behind me, I heard the rustle of fabric and turned to see my father sliding under the dining table, his hand over his lips, eyes wide with fear. He shook his head, mouthing, Don’t say anything.

My hands started to tremble.

The men scanned the room behind me. More neighbors were gathering outside, whispering. No — murmuring. But their voices carried like cannonballs in the still air.

“That’s Martin’s daughter, ain’t she?”

“He borrowed from the Lion Gang? Is he suicidal?”

“I told you they’d come one day. Can’t trust a desperate man.”

The words slammed into me one after another. My ears rang. The Lion Gang? That name wasn't just whispered in the streets — it echoed in nightmares. Ruthless. Cold. Unforgiving. My father... borrowed money from them?

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammered, stepping slightly back.

Another man, younger, with a snake tattoo winding around his neck, chuckled darkly. “Wrong answer.”

He stepped forward, tapping the butt of his gun. The threat was clear. The air turned cold despite the summer heat. My breath caught.

Then, the one with the scar leaned closer, voice dropping to a mock-gentle murmur.

“Where... is... Martinez?”

That name again. Martinez. I'd heard it before — late at night when my father thought I was asleep. It wasn’t his real name, just one he used with the gang, I think. Maybe that was his borrowed identity. Maybe it didn’t matter anymore.

I tried to speak, but all that came out was, “I… I…”

I turned, my eyes falling on the small cake. The candle had flickered out. The frosting had melted in a slow slump over the edge.

Just like my life.

I had no strength left. I was tired of fighting.

One of the men raised his hand as if to push me aside —

But he didn’t get the chance.

The crowd shifted, murmurs growing louder as a tall, broad man strode through them. His steps were purposeful. The tailored black tuxedo clung perfectly to his frame. Sharp jaw. Piercing dark eyes. His presence silenced the chaos like a predator stepping into a room full of prey.

He looked like sin in human form — dark, sleek, and dangerous.

Whispers flew like ash on wind.

“Who is that?”

“He’s not from here…”

“Wait — no way… Is that—?”

I blinked, breath caught in my throat.

No… it can’t be.

But it was.

Leonard “Leo” Morano.

My father’s old best friend.

The man who disappeared from our lives when I was fifteen.

I hadn’t seen him in years, but that face — that commanding air — I’d never forgotten it.

He didn’t speak as he walked straight to me. The men from the Lion Gang froze. They knew him too. Everyone knew Leo Morano. He wasn’t just a rumor. He was a legend. A myth turned flesh. The silent storm.

He reached for my right hand, his grip firm, warm, and unyielding. Without a word, he pulled me through the stunned crowd, away from the broken birthday, the crumbling cake, the debts and desperation.

He led me to a sleek black car parked across the street — glass like obsidian, body like a beast. He turned to face me, his eyes scanning my face, lingering on the tear tracks I didn’t even realize were there.

He raised a hand, his thumb gently brushing the tears away.

I could barely breathe.

Why is he here? After all these years? Why now?

Then, he slid his hand into his jacket pocket, releasing a presence so cold and powerful that the air seemed to pulse with it.

His voice, low and absolute, broke through the silence.

“Marry me, Sophia.”

I stared, blinking, wondering if I’d misheard.

“W-what?”

His eyes, dark as midnight, burned into mine.

“Marry me, and I will smash every obstacle in your way. Every curse. Every hand that dares to touch you. Every name that speaks against you. I will erase your debt, save your father, and give your mother the best doctors in the world. You’ll never shed another tear unless it’s on my pillow.

“But,” he added, voice turning to steel, “you’ll belong to me.”

The world shifted beneath my feet.

The air was heavier.

And in that moment, I knew—

This wasn’t a proposal.

It was a declaration.

He wasn’t asking.

He was choosing me.

Like a king claiming his bride.

And all I could do… was breathe.