Silent Bride of the Mafia King

After my family went bankrupt and my perfect sister pulled a runaway bride act, I was sold off as collateral to a notoriously ruthless mafia heir.

To survive by this violent man's side, I played the only card I had—I became his helpless, deafmute little puppet.

Kian had absolutely zero qualms about mocking me right to my face. "I think I'll just call you my little deaf pet." "Damn, why are you so soft?" he would murmur. "Soft everywhere.

Like a ripe, juicy peach just begging to be bitten and drained dry." "Honestly, you're getting one hell of a deal scoring a body like mine," he would gloat.

I kept my face perfectly blank. But as time went on, he crossed every single line.

Fully weaponizing my supposed deafness, he started whispering the most filthy, possessive dirty talk right against my ear. "You sound so fucking pretty when you whimper for me, Harlow," he breathed huskily. "If I push a little harder, you'll scream even sweeter, won't you?" I stared up at him with dead eyes and signed in rapid ASL, You are an absolute psycho.

Kian just smirked, his dark eyes gleaming with lazy amusement as he tilted his head. "And what does that mean, sweetheart?" Chapter 1 I kept my face perfectly blank and signed back smoothly: It means you're amazing.

What I didn't know was that this ruthless mafia boss had actually gone out of his way to learn ASL just for me.

So, when he walked through the door later that evening, I casually flashed him a greeting: The psycho is home. His dark expression turned lethal.

Then, the corner of his mouth ticked up into a slow, dangerous smirk. "Psycho?" he repeated, his voice practically vibrating with dark amusement. "I thought it meant I was amazing?" My hands froze midair.

Shit. Standing in the cavernous, violently opulent foyer of the mafia family's estate, my heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Every instinct screamed at me to turn and bolt. It wasn't that I couldn't physically run. It was that I wouldn't survive if I did.

My family’s company had gone under, burying us in a mountain of debt. To clear the ledger, I was sold off into this marriage. Kian's family ran the underground.

Sure, they claimed their businesses were completely legitimate now, but no amount of whitewashing could erase the blood soaked into the foundation of their empire.

Under normal circumstances, a lowtier businessman like my father, Preston, wouldn't even be allowed to breathe the same air as these people.

But as luck would have it, Preston had supposedly saved the former mafia don’s life during a boating accident decades ago.

They called in the life debt, and just like that, the marriage contract was signed in blood. The original bride was supposed to be my perfect older sister, Sutton.

But rumors had been flying that the heir was a ruthless killer—a hideously ugly, grotesquely overweight thug.

So, on the morning of the wedding, my dear sister pulled a vanishing act. She left nothing but a crumpled note: I’d rather die than marry that disgusting pig!

When my family huddled around that pathetic piece of paper, a twisted sense of satisfaction flared in my chest.

Just picture it—some decrepit, flabby mob boss reeking of cheap cigars and stale whiskey pressing his crushing weight onto my spoiled, delicate sister.

I swallowed a vicious, cold laugh. It would have been the exact karma she deserved. Preston was apoplectic.

He gripped the note so hard his knuckles turned white, barking orders at his security team to hunt Sutton down while cursing her name. But midrant, his frantic eyes snapped to me.

I was just standing in the corner, a silent spectator. A cold dread pooled in my stomach. "Harlow," he said, his voice dropping into a sickly tone.

My fingernails dug into my palms. "Your sister ran off, but this wedding is happening today regardless." The dread hardened into ice. "You're going to put on the dress.

You're taking her place." I should have known. Ever since my mother died giving birth to me, Preston had looked at me like I was a stranger who wandered into his house.

Sutton was the golden child, the one who got the warm smiles and the fatherly affection. I was just the cursed afterthought. Sure, he kept me fed and clothed.

I had the same material things Sutton did. But love? Please. If he actually gave a damn about Sutton, he wouldn't have sold her to a mobster in the first place.

Now that she had conveniently escaped, I was the designated sacrificial lamb.

Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if the two of them had planned this entire stunt together just to feed me to the wolves.

I was three years younger than Sutton, fresh out of college. Because of my traumatic birth, I had grown up sickly and fragile.

Preston kept me hidden away like a dirty secret; I never attended galas or charity dinners.

Outside of these walls, barely anyone in the city even knew Preston had a second daughter. Swapping me in wouldn't raise any immediate red flags. I stared flatly at Preston.

This sprawling mansion, the very place that had imprisoned me for my entire childhood, had officially become my auction block. "Fine. I'll marry him." I didn't shed a single tear.

In a family like this, tears were the most worthless currency you could carry.

Besides, with my fragile health, maybe the mafia would take one look at my sickly frame and toss me back out on the street.

Or maybe my grotesque new husband would accidentally crush me to death on the first night. What a pathetic, miserable joke my life was.

By the time the maids shoved me into the extravagant wedding gown, the convoy had arrived. But it wasn't the feared heir who came to collect his bride—it was merely his head butler.

I kept my head bowed, risking a quick glance through my lashes. No massive, cigarreeking mobster in sight. A fraction of the suffocating tension leaked out of my chest.

Clearly, the heir was just as thrilled about this arrangement as I was.

Chapter 2 The ceremony went smoothly, though I never actually caught a glimpse of my supposedly grotesque new husband.

This mafia family wedding was steeped in a suffocating gothic atmosphere. I wore a heavy black lace veil, my head bowed the entire time.

While taking our vows in front of the priest, I only dared to use my peripheral vision to peek at the groom's immaculate, custommade leather shoes.

Once the terrifying ritual concluded, I was escorted directly to Kian's sprawling estate.

When the heavy mahogany doors clicked shut and the ambient noise finally faded, I pushed back the veil.

The massive master suite was illuminated only by a dim wall sconce, the air heavy with the dangerous, expensive scent of cedarwood cologne.

The Kingsize bed was stripped of anything welcoming, draped in dark grey silk sheets. There were no unnecessary decorations; it was simply a magnificent, suffocating cage.

The absolute silence was deafening, making every muscle in my body beg to run. I was starving, practically running on empty before this mobster even had a chance to kill me.

Just as I shifted my weight to stand, voices bled through the ajar door. An arrogant, gravelly male drawl drifted in. "Give them one more sitdown.

If they don't play ball, wipe them out." My blood ran cold. Wipe them out? The air trapped in my lungs. My heart hammered violently against my ribs.

This man didn't waste any time. "Understood, boss. I'll head back to the warehouse." "Yeah." A dead silence stretched.

Then, that same arrogant voice dropped a lethal octave. "Someone's in my room." An older, grittier voice chimed in. "Want me to handle it, sir?" Heavy footsteps approached, eating up the distance.

Panic seized my limbs. I practically ripped my hearing aids out of my ears and shoved them blindly under the mattress, throwing the black veil back over my head.

The world plunged into silence. The only thing left was the deafening, frantic thudding of my own pulse, pounding so hard my chest physically ached.

I had no idea how much time passed. Just as my lungs burned for air, a pair of immaculate leather shoes stepped into my line of sight.

A muffled, heavily distorted vibration reached me—barely a whisper in my damaged ears. "Get up." I didn't move a single muscle. Yes, I was playing the deafmute card to survive.

But I didn't have to act hard—I was legally deaf. Back in high school, a severe fever had put me in a coma.

A botched reaction between my imported medication and the hospital's antibiotics triggered massive drug toxicity, permanently destroying my hearing.

I wasn't completely in the dark; I could pick up faint vibrations, but even a blaring siren sounded like a whisper to me.

Without my hearing aids, any normal sound simply didn't exist. The mafia heir seemingly repeated his command. I remained frozen. The heavy lace veil was ripped from my head.

I flinched, snapping my head up. My breath hitched. Standing over me wasn't a grotesque, twohundredpound mobster.

The man was over six feet tall, built with lean, dangerous muscle that strained against his tailored suit.

His features were devastatingly sharp—piercing dark eyes framed by thick lashes, a strong jawline, and a pair of thin lips pulled into a displeased line.

He exuded an arrogant, lethal kind of magnetism that hit me like a physical blow. Who the hell is this? My mind spun. He was breathtakingly gorgeous.

If Sutton knew the "disgusting pig" looked like an underground king straight off a magazine cover, she would vomit blood in regret. The man narrowed his eyes.

His lips moved, the syllables completely lost on me, but his icy expression made it clear he wasn't offering pleasantries.

I simply pointed to my ear and shook my head slowly, keeping my eyes wide and blank.

The man advanced like a hypervigilant panther, his intensely aggressive pheromones instantly suffocating me. He narrowed his deep, predatory eyes.

He drew the cold, steel handgun from his waistband. Clickclack. The sharp, terrifying sound of a bullet racking into the chamber exploded right against my eardrum.

I caught the faint vibration of the metal mechanism, forcing my limbs to remain limp.

I forced myself to stare blankly at his chest, burying the survival instinct screaming at me to duck, pretending I hadn't felt a thing. Chapter 3 He didn't buy the act.

Smart bastard. I kept my expression perfectly smooth, not letting a single muscle twitch in response to the phantom echo of the gunshot.

Instead, I just tilted my head, offering him a blank, confused stare. The man studied me for a long beat.

Then, he pulled out his phone, his long fingers tapping against the screen before shoving it under my nose. I am Kian.

A flicker of surprise went through me that he hadn't just ordered his men to drag me out and shoot me. I took the heavy, expensive device from his hand and typed back. Harlow.

Kian's dark brows drew together as he read the name. He snatched the phone back and typed again. Deaf? Completely? Mute? I stared at the harsh, utterly blunt words. I can't hear.

But I can speak. He arched a brow, his predatory gaze dragging over my figure. Preston didn't buy you hearing aids? My stomach tightened.

I forced my hands to remain steady as I typed. I had them. I dropped them during the wedding chaos. I don't know where they are.

Kian didn't give any indication of whether he believed my bullshit or not. He just took his phone and strode into the master bathroom.

I remained perched stiffly on the edge of the mattress until the bathroom door clicked open.

He stepped out, wearing loosely tied silk sleepwear that clung to his lean, heavily muscled frame.

My eyes involuntarily tracked the long lines of his legs before snapping up to his face. He was drying his damp hair with a towel.

Catching my stare, his lips curved into a slow, wicked smirk. He grabbed his phone, typed a few words, and sauntered over, invading my personal space again to flash the screen.

Night is short. Time to consummate the marriage, my sweet bride. My throat went dry.

I swallowed hard, suppressing the panic clawing at my chest, and made a sharp, demanding hand gesture. Kian frowned, clearly not fluent enough in ASL to catch my meaning.

I parted my lips. "Clothes," I croaked. My voice sounded foreign and raspy. Ever since I lost my hearing, I rarely spoke, preferring the safety of silence and signs.

He let out a low, vibrating huff that I felt more than heard, before turning to toss me a dark silk robe. Surrounded by hostile territory, I rushed through my shower in record time.

When I stepped back out, I hovered near the bathroom frame, staring nervously at him.

Sure, I had dodged the bullet of being crushed by a twohundredpound mobster, but I definitely wasn't mentally prepared to share a bed with this lethal, gorgeous predator.

Kian patted the empty space beside him on the dark grey sheets. I dragged my feet, moving with excruciating slowness, before slipping rigidly under the covers.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself.

Kian looked down at me with lethal superiority, slowly unbuttoning his shirt collar to reveal a wide expanse of rockhard chest muscles and black tattoos spreading up to his collarbone.

He didn't physically touch me.

He simply used that dangerous, predatory gaze to strip me down to the bone, making the blood in my entire body boil with raw fear and an inexplicable, heavy heat.

In the dead of night, the mattress shifted. I caught the faint vibration of Kian sitting bolt upright. A sharp, urgent shockwave hit my damaged ears. "Harlow!

Fire!" What a complete psychopath. Thank God my anxiety had kept me wide awake. If I had been halfasleep, I absolutely would have flinched or jolted out of bed.

This bastard was playing twisted mind games to trap me. I forced my breathing to remain slow and even, casually rolling over onto my side like a deeply sleeping woman.

Under the covers, my fingernails dug so fiercely into my palms they almost drew blood. For the rest of the night, I didn't dare close my eyes for more than five minutes at a time.

When morning finally broke, I dragged myself to the mirror to find bruised, dark circles dragging down my undereyes.

Kian, on the other hand, woke up looking thoroughly refreshed and dangerously handsome, even pausing to arch an amused brow at my zombielike state.

For the next few days, I lived in a constant state of highalert paranoia.

Kian randomly tested my deafness at every given opportunity, completely destroying my appetite and sleep schedule.

Mercifully, after that hellish first night, we didn't share a bed again. I assumed the ruthless mafia heir hated sharing his personal space just as much as I did.

I wasn't complaining. Having my own massive guest room was a godsend.

I firmly locked the heavy door every single night, finally able to breathe without the constant fear of him ambushing me in my sleep.

But as the days dragged on, I quickly realized that Kian's personality was downright atrocious.

The absolute worst part was his blatant disrespect—he fully weaponized my supposed disability, casually referring to me as his little deaf pet right to my face.

I gritted my teeth and swallowed the venom burning on my tongue. He knew exactly what I needed to hear again. I had literally typed out that I needed new hearing aids.

But for some sick, twisted reason, he ignored the request, deliberately stalling the purchase. It kept me trapped.

I didn't dare dig out my old pair from under his mattress for fear of blowing my cover. And the absolute peak of his insanity?

He knew I couldn't hear a word, yet he constantly talked to me. Even when I gave him zero reaction, he could stand there and monologue in his arrogant, gravelly drawl for hours.

Chapter 4 I viciously tore into my French croissant, imagining it was Kian’s detestable face. If only I could bite his head clean off.

I couldn't buy new hearing aids myself; I had to wait for Kian to do it. But honestly, what if I accidentally overheard something else that could get me killed?

In a twisted way, staying officially 'deaf' was my safest bet. Kian was always gone during the day, wrapped up in his shadowy underworld dealings.

I certainly wasn't going to ask questions. Just like that, a whole month of this sham marriage blurred past. Preston's men still hadn't tracked down Sutton.

Not that it mattered anymore; my name was already on the marriage certificate.

It was honestly terrifying how the mafia could easily bypass city hall to forge legally binding documents without either of us even being present. Officially stamped and certified.

But a piece of paper didn't offer any real protection. That lethal conversation from our wedding night still echoed in my damaged ears.

I lived in constant terror that Kian would just snap my neck if I breathed wrong.

Beneath his lazy, arrogant drawl lay a coldblooded killer who wouldn't hesitate to slaughter his own reflection if it looked at him sideways.

Thankfully, Kian had been out of town recently, allowing the suffocating tension in my chest to finally loosen.

I even noticed my notoriously fragile health had stabilized this past month.

I halfsuspected the dangerous, aggressive pheromones radiating off this ruthless mafia boss were acting as some twisted miracle cure for me.

Still, my immune system wasn't bulletproof; I couldn't risk catching a chill. It was another glorious day with the mobster out of the house.

After the cleaning staff left for the evening, I waited an extra hour just to be certain Kian wasn't coming back. When the coast remained clear, the tension bled from my shoulders.

The freedom was intoxicating. Kian’s parents were allegedly running operations overseas, erasing any risk of toxic inlaw drama. It was the perfect, solitary setup.

I spent the evening curled up in bed with a thriller novel before finally dragging myself into the massive master bathroom for a latenight shower.

I began lathering the rich body wash over my skin. The heavy thud of the bathroom door swinging open hit my eardrums. My heart slammed into my throat.

Kian's private estate was a fortress equipped with militarygrade security; no outsider could possibly breach the perimeter.

The maids were long gone, and even if they had returned, they wouldn't just barge in without knocking. There was only one person arrogant enough to trespass like this.

The frosted glass of the shower stall didn't offer any reflection, stripping me of the chance to pretend I had simply 'spotted' him. I faced away from the vanity mirrors.

A humiliating rush of heat flooded my veins at the sheer vulnerability of standing exposed before this predator. My lathered fingers locked up, paralyzed.

A towering, heavily built shadow blocked the doorway, exuding a suffocating oppression. I could feel the man's heavy gaze sweeping over my damp, exposed skin like a tangible force.

I bit down ruthlessly on my bottom lip, violently suppressing the urge to scream by digging my nails deep into my palms.

In front of this lethal mob enforcer, any instinctual tremble could cost me my life.

Cursing Kian to the deepest pits of hell, I cranked the showerhead on full blast, frantically rinsing off before snatching a plush towel and throwing on my silk pajamas in record time.

The heavy door clicked shut just before I stepped out. The second I crossed the threshold into the bedroom, I spotted Kian standing rigid by the floortoceiling windows.

At the soft rustle of my clothes, he turned his head.

The tips of his ears were a dark, angry red, and for the first time, his dangerous gaze actually flickered away, actively avoiding my eyes.

I widened my eyes, feigning absolute shock at his sudden appearance, and raised my hands to sign. Chapter 5 When did you get back?

I was absolutely shredding him to pieces in my head. Oh, so the ruthless mobster actually knew how to feel embarrassed? What an absolute creep.

Kian watched my frantic hand gestures, easily reading the manufactured shock on my face. He pulled out his phone, his long fingers tapping across the screen. Just walked in.

Yeah, right. Tell that to someone who actually buys your bullshit. Get some rest.

He practically bolted out of the doorway, moving with a stiff, hurried grace that almost looked like a retreat.

I stared at his broad back, my eyes catching the lingering dark flush on the tips of his ears. No way. The city's most feared mafia heir was actually a prude?

I shook my head, aggressively locking the heavy oak door behind me before crawling into bed. I slept like the dead.

When I dragged myself downstairs the next morning, I stopped dead in my tracks. Kian was actually sitting at the dining table.

Usually, this terrifying man was long gone before the sun even fully crested.

As I ate the lavish breakfast prepared by the butler and private chef, the long, expensive dining table felt suffocatingly quiet.

He finished his black coffee and stood up, buttoning his tailored suit jacket. Before walking out, he gave me a curt, acknowledging nod.

I stared at his retreating back, genuinely wondering if the man had suffered a head injury during the night.

Once the coast was clear, I retreated to my room, cracked open my laptop, and dove straight into writing my serialized thriller. Yes, I was a web novelist.

When the fever first stole my hearing, my world shattered. I locked myself away, spiraling into total isolation until I accidentally stumbled into writing online fiction.

It turned out I had a wicked knack for weaving dark, twisted plots, pulling in a very comfortable passive income.

I completely lost track of time, hammering out thousands of words until my lower back throbbed in protest.

By the time I finally blinked at the clock, the sky outside the floortoceiling windows had bled into a bruised, inky purple.

Feeling sticky, I jumped into the shower for a quick rinse.

I was just about to head downstairs to scavenge the kitchen when the heavy rumble of multiple SUV engines vibrating up through the floorboards stopped me.

I peeked through the blinds. Kian’s matte black convoy was idling in the driveway. A group of heavily tattooed enforcers was practically dragging him out of the backseat.

The man was completely wasted. I snapped my laptop shut and padded downstairs, running right into the chaotic group spilling through the foyer.

The second they spotted me on the landing, the enforcers snapped to attention, their voices booming in unison. "Good evening, Ma'am!" The sheer volume rattled the remaining nerves in my damaged ears.

It was a suffocatingly intense mafia display of respect. I froze on the stairs, trapped in my helpless deafmute persona.

Thankfully, Kian violently shoved his men off him, slurring a dark command that sent them scrambling out the front doors. Then, he lifted a heavy hand and beckoned me over.

I cautiously closed the distance and reached out to stabilize him. As my fingers brushed his arm, his massive frame locked up.

Assuming the ruthless mob boss hated being touched, I immediately tried to pull away. Instead, he dumped his dead weight against my side.

My knees buckled under the crushing pressure. Christ! Did this man have zero concept of his sheer, terrifying mass?

He reeked of expensive bourbon and cigarette smoke, making my nose wrinkle in absolute disgust. He buried his face into the curve of my neck, inhaling deeply like a starved animal.

His scorching, liquorlaced breath washed over my bare collarbone, making every single muscle in my body snap tight. "My little deaf pet, why do you smell so fucking sweet?" he rasped, his voice a broken, gravelly vibration.

I kept my mouth shut, practically dragging his massive body toward the custom leather sofa.

If he had stumbled in an hour earlier, the estate staff could have dealt with this nightmare. "My little deaf pet, why are you so soft," he murmured.

Kian's rough, scorching palm clamped over my lower back, dragging me flush against his rockhard chest.

There was zero space left between us. "Soft like a perfectly ripe peach, just begging someone to take a massive bite and drain every drop of that sweet juice dry." My breath stalled in my throat.

Kian was a psychopath. The alcohol had unhinged him. I finally managed to throw his heavy frame onto the sofa.

He sank into the cushions, his dark, hooded eyes never once leaving my face. The dangerous edge in his gaze was blunted by the heavy liquor, his pupils slightly dilated and hazy.

Honestly, this wasted version of the mafia heir was a total 180 from his usual self.

Normally, he carried himself with this infuriating, lethal superiority, like he owned every soul in the room. But completely wrecked like this?

He possessed a raw, magnetic pull that was dangerously intoxicating. It made a weird, unwanted heat flare in my cheeks.

I quickly shook it off and flashed a sharp hand gesture at him. The corners of his eyes were a bruised, feverish red.

He slouched against the expensive leather, an image of pure, lethal laziness, his impossibly long legs spread wide. He blinked slowly, processing my sign.

Then, he deliberately lifted a heavy finger and tapped his own bottom lip. My eyes blew wide. Are you kidding me? I stared at him, paralyzed in disbelief.

He held my gaze and tapped his mouth again, slower this time. The terrifying realization crashed over me—the ruthless mafia boss wasn't making a drunken joke.

Chapter 6 I warred with myself for what felt like an eternity before finally making a decision. It's just a kiss, I rationalized.

If it gets me my hearing aids back, who cares about a little sacrifice? I leaned in slowly, grabbing handfuls of his expensive shirt collar.

Under his stunned gaze, I smashed my mouth against his. Calling it a 'kiss' would be a massive understatement. It was practically a collision.

I went in so hard our teeth clashed violently behind our lips. Pain spiked through my mouth, and I immediately shoved him back. Kian froze.

When he spoke, his gravelly voice was tight. "What are you doing?" I scowled at him, projecting unadulterated accusation. What do you mean, what am I doing?

Didn't he literally just tap his lips to tell me to kiss him in exchange for the hearing aids? Was this bastard seriously going to back out of the deal?

I shot him a furious glare, acting like a scorned woman who had just been played. A dark, unnatural flush crept up Kian's neck. His lethal, lazy arrogance vanished.

He cleared his throat, his usually smooth voice almost stumbling. "If you don't want to speak… you don't have to. You didn't have to kiss me." My blood ran cold.

The realization hit me like a freight train. He hadn't been demanding a kiss. He was tapping his mouth to tell me to use my voice because he didn't understand my sign language.

His thin lips tasted like expensive, heavy bourbon, shockingly hot against mine. I expected him to shove me away in a blind rage, but instead, his massive frame locked up.

His Adam's apple bobbed with a heavy swallow. Something dark and unhinged flashed in the mob boss's eyes—a sick, obsessive need teetering on the edge of loss of control.

The air in the room became terrifyingly thick. Kian suddenly reached out and gripped my wrist. He refused to meet my eyes directly.

That dark flush wasn't just on his cheeks anymore; it was spreading past his jawline and down his heavily tattooed neck. Fascination overrode my common sense.

Acting purely on instinct, I reached out and brushed the side of his neck. The second my fingertips grazed his skin, the flush darkened dramatically. My eyes went wide.

I couldn't help myself—I poked the heated skin again. Kian was usually so pale that the angry red blotches stood out like a beacon, spreading rapidly under my touch.

Right as I was getting swept up in my little experiment, a massive hand clamped around my fingers, halting me instantly. I flinched and dragged my gaze up to Kian's face.

His dark eyes were pitch black, swallowed by dilated pupils.

A dangerous, bruised red tinged the corners of his eyes, and his breathing had grown ragged. "Stop," he rasped, his voice vibrating with a lethal, suppressed edge.

One look at that predatory stare and survival instinct finally kicked in. I had definitely just poked the bear. I awkwardly yanked my hand back.

Still sporting that intense flush, Kian studied me, his tone dropping into a dangerously arrogant drawl. "Harlow. Do you have feelings for me?" My eyes bulged. No.

Absolutely not! "I knew you wanted me," he murmured smoothly, leaning in. "Why else would you throw yourself at me?" I didn't! You psycho! Kian ignored my desperate, silent denial.

He just kept talking, his deep voice wrapping around me as he spun his own twisted narrative.

I sat there with a totally deadpan expression, eventually zoning out his intoxicating, gravelly voice. He didn't let me go until it was time for bed.

I had zero idea that the city's most feared, coldblooded mafia enforcer could be such a persistent, arrogant talker. I practically sprinted back to my guest room.

The second I hit the mattress, I let out a massive sigh of relief. Click. The heavy door swung open. Kian stood in the doorway, clutching a dark silk pillow.

He lifted his chin, his expression the picture of arrogant indifference. "My bathroom flooded. I'm taking your bed for the night." I stared at him blankly. Yeah, right.

The plumbing in this multimillion dollar fortress flooded? His brain was flooded. If I actually bought that pathetic excuse, I'd be the absolute idiot. Anger flared in my chest.

I threw my hands up and flashed an aggressive sign. You are out of your damn mind! Kian effortlessly kicked the door shut behind him.

Catching my sharp hand movement, he just assumed it was a welcoming gesture. Without another word, he confidently tossed his pillow onto the mattress and slid under the covers.

I scrambled backward, grabbing my own pillow. I'd rather sleep in a linen closet than share this bed with him again.

I barely made it to my feet before a massive hand clamped around my wrist and yanked me backward. "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded.

I pointed frantically toward the hallway. Kian gave a violent tug, dragging me right back onto the mattress.

His heavy, muscular arm slammed around my waist, pinning me flush against his hard chest. He locked me in place, his grip absolute. "I'm right here.

Where else are you going to sleep?" he rumbled, his breath hot against my ear. "We're married.

Husbands and wives share a bed." He pulled me even tighter, engulfing me. "Besides, there's nowhere safer than right here in my arms.

Stop acting so shy, sweetheart." Listening to this dangerous mobster smoothly spew such absolute garbage into my ear, I genuinely almost laughed out loud from pure frustration.

Chapter 7 Oh, so now he remembers we're a married couple who should share a bed? What about the past month when he completely avoided my room? This absolute bastard.

Feeling his muscular, powerful arms lock me firmly in place, the aggressive, pure Alpha scent radiating off him instantly stripped away my rationality.

Pressed against his scorching body heat, a primal craving for this dangerous predator overrode my common sense. I mean, the man was devastatingly gorgeous.

The only real concern was whether my fragile body could actually survive the sheer force of him. Yep, I had officially lost my mind.

I was actually lusting after the city's most feared mafia heir.

I lay there practically buzzing with anticipation, fully bracing myself for him to make a move… only to realize the heavy breathing behind me had evened out.

The man had fallen dead asleep. I violently resisted the urge to kick him straight off the mattress. Oh, now he decides to play the perfect gentleman?

When morning broke, I woke up horrified by my lack of selfpreservation. I was sprawled on top of Kian.

My arms were locked around his hard waist, and my legs were tangled intimately with his. I slowly lifted my head, only to lock eyes with Kian.

He was already wide awake, his dark, hooded gaze dropping down to stare intensely at me.

I wordlessly scrambled off his massive frame, desperately trying to compute how the hell I had ended up clinging to him like a desperate koala.

A flicker of dark displeasure crossed Kian's sharp features as I pulled away.

He let out a low, rough exhale, his jaw tightening as if he wanted to drag me right back into his chest. We eventually dragged ourselves out of bed and headed downstairs.

When the head housekeeper spotted us emerging from the same bedroom, a knowing, delighted smile lit up her face.

I kept my face perfectly blank, entirely ignoring her obvious amusement. Over the next few days, Kian's behavior took an even sharper turn.

The ruthless mob boss practically stopped leaving the estate during the day. He was just always there. The second I opened my eyes in the morning, he was in my line of sight.

That's right—he had officially moved all his things into my room. And the demeaning "little deaf pet" nickname?

It vanished, replaced by a low, gravelly "Harlow." I wouldn't admit it out loud, but the shift felt dangerously good.

One night, right as we were getting ready for bed, Kian's deep voice vibrated through the quiet room. "Harlow.

Your new hearing aids arrive tomorrow." He reached out, his rough thumb brushing lightly against my earlobe.

The electric friction sent a shiver down my spine, making me subconsciously pull back. I shot him a confused look. He picked up his phone and typed the sentence out for me to read.

The suffocating knot in my chest dissolved, and a genuine smile finally reached my eyes. Navigating this nightmare with actual sound was going to be so much easier.

Kian tossed the phone onto the nightstand. He stared at me for a long, heavy moment before his voice dropped into a dark, raw vow. "Harlow, I am going to protect you.

Always." I froze. A strange, tight knot formed in my chest. To be brutally honest, Kian had handled my supposed disability flawlessly. He never once treated me like I was broken.

Even when I gave him absolute silence, he always spoke to me like an equal. Beneath the lethal mafia exterior, he had this twisted core of decency. I knew it.

I reached out and patted his broad shoulder. As he furrowed his brows in confusion, I leaned in and pressed my mouth to his. It wasn't a violent collision like last time.

It was just a soft, fleeting brush of lips before I pulled back. I had to admit, the dangerous mobster had incredibly soft, intoxicating lips.

Settling back onto my side of the mattress, I quickly signed, Thank you. Kian just stared at me, looking shellshocked.

My eyes zeroed in on his ears—that telltale dark flush was creeping right back up his neck. Christ, he really is a massive prude.

The sheer contrast between his lethal, heavily tattooed appearance and this flustered reaction was wildly entertaining. A smug smirk tugged at the corners of my mouth.

Kian’s dark eyes locked onto my lips.

His Adam's apple bobbed heavily. "Harlow," he rasped, "do that again." Before I could even process the demand, he growled low in his throat. "Fuck it. My turn.

Shouldn't make my wife do all the work." He clamped a massive hand around my wrist and forcefully yanked me straight into his hard chest. He angled his head and captured my mouth.

His hot, demanding lips smothered mine. The suffocatingly expensive scent of cedarwood and dark bourbon instantly overwhelmed my senses.

The kiss started out agonizingly slow, testing the waters, but the underlying dominance was unmistakable.

He traced the seam of my lips, coaxing them open before plunging deep, tangling his tongue with mine in a slick, punishing rhythm.

I could feel the ragged, broken hitch of his breathing vibrating against my jaw. His heavy, muscular frame pinned me against the mattress.

He pushed up on his elbows, his eyes pitch black, swimming with a heavy, primal lust that made him look impossibly dangerous. "Are you ready, Harlow?" he murmured hoarsely.

His lips trailed down the sensitive curve of my neck, burning a hot path against my pulse point.

He was moving with excruciating slowness, deliberately holding back the beast inside. I knew exactly what he was doing—he was giving me the window to push him away.

Chapter 8 But I never had any intention of pushing him away. I looped my arms around his heavy neck, holding his dark gaze without blinking.

I reached up and pinched his heated earlobe. The message was loud and clear. Kian's breathing shattered.

His massive hands clamped down on my waist, dragging me flush against him as he devoured the rest of my breath. The gentle testing was gone.

He kissed me with a starving, aggressive desperation, ruthlessly invading my mouth and consuming every inch.

His scorching lips dragged down my skin, leaving deep, burning marks in their wake.

I felt like a fragile boat caught in a violent storm, overwhelmed by his crushing, relentless waves. I take back every single thought about him being a prude.

He was a starving wolf playing dressup. I completely lost track of how many times he took me. Maybe twice, maybe three times.

When Kian finally scooped my exhausted body up against his chest, he chuckled darkly right against my ear. "You sound so fucking pretty when you whimper for me, Harlow.

If I push a little harder, you'll scream even sweeter, won't you?" He deliberately pressed his lips to my ear, his deep, gravelly voice dripping with filthy, possessive dirty talk.

Every shameful word struck my nerves like an electric whip, forcing the most honest physical reactions out of me.

I let out a breathless, frustrated laugh and threw up a rapid ASL sign: You are an absolute psycho. The mafia heir was practically buzzing with postcoital satisfaction.

He tilted his head, highly amused. "And what does that mean?" He tapped his mouth, demanding I use my voice.

I parted my lips, my throat raw and raspy from screaming his name for hours. Begging him to stop earlier had been completely useless. "It means you're amazing.

Good vibes." I was drained by his tireless, beastlike demands, unable to lift a single finger.

In the last moments before I lost consciousness, this terrifyingly energetic mob enforcer still had me locked tightly in his heavy arms, guarding me like his most prized trophy.

When I woke up the next morning, Kian was already gone. I dragged myself out of bed and padded downstairs. A small, sleek box sat perfectly centered on the living room coffee table.

I picked it up. Inside were topoftheline, imported hearing aids.

The obscenely expensive kind. "Harlow is definitely going to cry from gratitude," a deep, gravelly voice muttered from the hallway. "How the hell am I supposed to comfort her?" It was Kian.

I rolled my eyes so hard they almost got stuck. Crying over a pair of hearing aids? Was his brain actually functioning?

Kian stepped into the room, motioning for me to open the case. I popped it open. You definitely get what you pay for; the tech was flawless. But tears were absolutely not happening.

I looked up at him and flashed a quick sign. Thank you, you absolute psycho. Honestly, having my own secret language was incredible.

I could insult this lethal mobster right to his face and he had zero clue. He completely deserved it for calling me a "deaf pet" anyway.

Even after getting the hearing aids back, I barely wore them. Taking them out was my free pass to trashtalk him safely.

But I never expected my massive lie to blow up in my face so quickly. It was our sixmonth anniversary.

First thing that morning, Kian acted highly secretive, promising me a very special gift. I wrecked my brain all day trying to guess what it was. I was genuinely excited.

Until Kian walked through the door that evening looking absolutely murderous. I didn't clock the danger at first.

I was just chilling on the sofa, eating grapes and watching a movie. Catching his silhouette, I casually tossed up a sign. Welcome home, psycho. Kian didn't make a single sound.

My eyes flicked from the flat screen to his face. His expression was lethal.

As I stared in total confusion, the corner of his mouth ticked up into a terrifying, icy smirk. "Psycho?" he repeated, his voice vibrating with pure danger. "I thought it meant I was amazing?

Good vibes?" My feet rooted to the floor. The air evaporated from my lungs. I was so dead. My cover was blown. Kian violently ripped his tie loose.

He slammed his tailored suit jacket onto the leather sofa and stalked toward me like a predator cornering its prey. "Wondering how the hell I figured it out?" His face was a mask of unadulterated fury. "I fucking learned sign language for you!" he ground out, his jaw ticking hard. "My instructor told me I was doing great today, so I signed back to tell him he was amazing." He stopped right in front of me, narrowing his deep, terrifying eyes. "And guess what happened, Harlow?" I stared up at him, my hands trembling slightly against the cushions. "I praised the man, and he asked me why the fuck I was calling him a psycho.

You played me real good, Harlow!" I didn't dare breathe a single word. Kian closed the final gap. His rough fingers violently gripped my chin, forcing my head up.

His voice dropped into a bonechilling octave