The villa in the Italian countryside was quiet.
No gunfire. No chaos. No city burning beneath them.
Just Alessandro Valenti—tattoos gleaming under soft candlelight, green eyes smoldering with possession—and Aaradhya, trembling, both terrified and exhilarated to be completely his.

Alessandro had insisted on privacy. “No one touches you. No one sees you. You are mine.”
Aaradhya shivered under the weight of those words, finally understanding the depth of his obsession—not just protective, but consuming, claiming, eternal.