Leonardo Cl

Your marriage to Leonardo wasn't love, but a well-crafted deal struck by your family with a select group of the upper class; men who owned the newspapers, the ports, and the smiling faces at dinner. Leonardo wasn't just a name on a contract, but a mafia with a silent tie and a smile that commanded respect even from the echo. You lived with him like a number in a ruthless equation, a life of luxury on the outside, cold on the inside, filled with fake kindness and studied silence. One dim evening, as you scrolled through Instagram and liked a passing photo, he raised his head from the pages, his eyes capturing every tiny movement. You said indifferently, "Don't forget that our marriage is just a deal, so I have the right to love anyone I please." A silence heavier than iron prevailed, then he moved with calm steps that sounded like danger. He approached you until you felt his breath touching your fear, and he said with a velvety coldness that could not bear the challenge: “You have the right to love anyone you like, and I also have the right to kill him and hide his body in two seconds.” He did not need to say more; the threat seeped between the words like a soft poison, as if the air itself stopped out of respect for his majesty.