Ruby
As punishment? I'm teaching Aveline how to shoot. And not in the public training grounds I own—nah. For my wife, I'm using my personal underground chamber beneath the villa.
Hidden. Sacred.
Untouchable by cops.
Not that they'd ever dare. They bow when I pass.
The next morning, I rolled out of bed, slid into black joggers and a white shirt. Jacket too. Casual but lethal.
Aveline stirred in bed, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Damn, she looked good like that.
"Little rabbit," I said, voice already teasing. "Get ready for your punishment."
She groaned, barely audible. "I know it's more than just gun training…"
Smart girl. I smirked. She knows me too well.
I swapped the shirt for a red one, threw on my jeans—jogger cut, because comfort's a luxury I earned in blood. Slipped a mini pistol into my waistband, the one perfectly sized for her tiny, dangerous hands.
"Okay, little rabbit," I said, tossing my jacket onto the couch. "Showtime. And my entertainment time, too."
She snatched my jacket off the couch, wore it oversized like a thief. Damn. I could drop to my knees just for that sight alone.
I flexed my arms casually, tattoos visible—my dragon curling along my shoulder, her initial inked over my right, and the dancer girl on my wrist.
My dancer girl.
The art I live for.
I barked gently, "Get ready, little rabbit. We're doing something dangerous."
She gave me a side-eye.
God, I love her when she's bratty.
---
The air down there was thick.
Smelled of metal and silence.
Concrete walls. Echoing boots. Target dummies lined up like execution promises.
Aveline stood in the center. Black tank. Camo pants. My jacket still hanging from her shoulders like armor.
She looked soft.
Too soft.
But under me? She could become fire.
> "Feet apart." My voice, low and slicing.
"Back straight. Don't let the recoil boss you around."
She tried. Damn, she tried.
But I was half the problem—standing too close, watching too hard.
I leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
> "You're not gonna shoot me, are you?" I drawled, walking toward her like a predator.
"Tempting," she muttered, raising the pistol.
> "Careful." I was behind her now, mouth at her ear.
"That tone might make me fall in love all over again."
She tensed. Her finger trembled.
> "You're nervous."
"No I'm not."
"Then why's your hand shaking?"
I gripped her hand from behind, fingers curling over hers—slow. Possessive. Intentional.
> "You're not helping," she whispered.
"I'm not trying to help," I said, lips grazing her cheek.
"I'm trying to distract you."
BANG.
She flinched. The bullet missed.
I gasped dramatically, stepping in front of her.
> "You missed."
"You made me miss!"
> "Exactly," I grinned.
"You know what that means."
Aveline crossed her arms. "No. I don't."
> "One missed shot…" I walked closer, chest to chest,
"…equals one kiss. That's the rule now."
"Says who?"
> "Says the mafia boss with all the guns."
And I kissed her. Hard. Rough. Like a warning and a reward.
She was breathless when I pulled back.
> "Try again," I whispered, brushing my thumb along her lower lip.
"But miss one more time… and I'm pinning you to that wall."
She narrowed her eyes. "Maybe I'll start missing on purpose."
> I laughed. Wicked. Proud.
"That's my girl."
This time, when she fired—
She didn't miss.
---
Later. We trained hand-to-hand.
Sweat clung to her. Her chest rising. Lips parted.
> "Again," I ordered.
"Block. Twist. Disarm."
She tried. But she was breathless. Soft.
"You're built like a vampire gladiator!" she complained.
> "Compliments won't save you."
I lunged.
.Aveline shrieked—a mix of a giggle and terror—and tried to block, just like I showed her. Elbow up, twist the wrist—
Nope.
I spun her in seconds, pinning her arms behind her back with a swift lock.
> "Told you," I whispered low against her ear, my breath warm, and I'm damn sure my breath were sending electricity straight to Aveline's spine.
"You're predictable. Soft. Distracted."
> "Maybe I like being distracted," Aveline snapped.
> "Yeah?" I spun her around to face me.
"Then you're gonna hate this."
I pushed Aveline gently, letting her stumble backwards and fall to the floor—but not hard, never hard—just enough to knock the wind out, enough to show her who's boss.
Aveline looked up, eyes wide.
I crouched over her, one leg between Aveline's, pinning her down effortlessly. A slow hand brushed down Aveline's bare arm, tracing the vein, the muscle.
> "You wanna learn to fight?" I murmured.
"Then you have to stop gasping every time I touch you."
> "Maybe stop touching me like that," Aveline spat, cheeks burning, voice shaky.
I chuckled, leaning lower until my lips hovered inches from hers.
> "I touch you like this…" I kissed the corner of Aveline's lips,
"...because I can't help it."
Aveline whimpered.
> "I try to teach you combat," I continued, voice husky, fingers trailing up Aveline's stomach,
"But you're too soft for war, love. Too pretty. Too—"
I kissed her, deep, full of tongue and heat and dominance. Aveline gripped my shirt, moaning softly into her mouth as I shifted her weight, letting her hips grind down slowly—
> "See?" I whispered, biting Aveline's bottom lip.
"Can't even lift your arms now."
> "Shut up," Aveline gasped, eyes dazed.
"I hate you—"
> "You love me," I growled.
"And now I'm going to make you forget how to breathe."
I kissed her again, harder this time, swallowing every moan Aveline gave me. Our bodies tangled—combat forgotten, only craving remaining.
It's been a week now since I started teaching her both self-defense and how to handle a gun.
Today, I found myself in the storeroom—the one that held pieces of my past… my passion, my memories… and the version of me that smiled before I lost everything. White sheets draped over old canvases like burial shrouds, hiding what once brought me to life.
I pulled one off. Dust flew everywhere. My hands shook a little as I picked up a portrait—Mom. The one I painted just days before she died. I traced the edges gently, like I was touching her again. Beside it was another canvas… Aveline. The one I made the day she performed in front of me for the first time. The memory still burns clear.
I sighed. Heavy. Like my chest couldn't take the weight. And there it was again—Mom. Not in flesh, not in spirit, just in memory, smiling at me like she was trying to say something I couldn't quite hear. I clutched the lion necklace she left behind and closed my eyes.
I carried both portraits into the art room—the one I hadn't touched in months. The room where I once used to lose hours painting the world I wanted to see.
I hung them on the wall, side by side.
And then I started painting again.
Eyes.
Not just any.
Eyes that carried oceans of grief, shattered dreams, and the silence that follows losing someone you can never replace. Eyes that once gleamed with ambition… now hollow, heavy with things unsaid.
You've heard it before, "Eyes speak louder than words."
But these… these eyes were screaming.
I was deep into the strokes, the oil paint blending sorrow into color, when my phone started buzzing from somewhere on the floor. I picked it up.
Dad.
"Hello, Dad. Something wrong?"
"No, Ruby," he said, his voice warm but missing something. "I was just missing you… a lot lately. If you're free, come over. Bring your wife too."
I looked over at the unfinished painting, its sorrowful gaze staring back.
"Hmmm… okay. I'll be there in an hour."
"That's good. Be careful on your way."
"I will, Dad. Bye."
I hung up. That's when Aveline peeked into the room, all soft curiosity.
"Did your dad call? He wants us to visit?"
I smirked.
"Yeah… but I'm not going."
"Whyyy?" she asked, her head tilted, violet hair falling in strands like temptation. Like if I stared too long, I'd forget how to breathe.
"Okay, okay," I chuckled. "I was just teasing. We're going. Go get ready, bun-bun."
She smiled, the kind that made my ribs hurt in the best way, and skipped off.
Cute. Yeah, she's adorable. That's why I married her.
This little rabbit stole a lion's heart.
---
We went to visit Dad and Max. Aveline was with Max, laughing about something, while I walked into Dad's study.
"Dad… maybe I'm being silly, I dunno," I started, leaning against the polished desk. "But I wanted to ask you something."
He didn't say a word at first, just looked at me with those quiet eyes. Then he nodded. "Sure."
We'd been talking about the past for over an hour already—memories, regrets, little joys we usually leave unspoken. I finally asked, "Why'd you… agree to my marriage with Aveline? Back then, you knew what people would say. Our family's reputation, our name... I mean, I didn't care. Still don't. But you?"
He laughed. Like really laughed—genuine, unfiltered, like the old days. "That's a silly question, Ruby. You think your mother and I didn't see it? You were already in love with her before you ever admitted it. We saw how you looked at her, how you softened without even realizing it. We knew you'd protect her with your life."
Then he leaned forward and said, "Let them talk. People are gonna talk anyway, even if you do everything right. They'll twist it, spit on it, call you filthy—especially when they can't live that truth themselves. Why let the opinions of cowards destroy something real?"
I nodded. Couldn't even argue. He was right. All of it.
"That girl…" he continued, eyes narrowing playfully, "she's the only one who knows how to get under your skin, huh?"
Yeah. She does. The mafia heir who never bowed, never bent, brought to her knees for her queen—for her wife—for everything she ever feared she couldn't have.
When we got back to the villa, I saw her in the hallway—still so breathtaking, like the damn air was swirling around her and not me. I wrapped an arm around her waist from behind. She gasped softly, surprised, her body reacting before her voice.
I picked her up and sat her gently on the dining table, her hands flat against my chest. "What are you doing, Ruby?" she asked, her voice all soft and sugary—innocent and teasing in that way that makes me lose all logic.
"Nothing, rabbit," I whispered, grazing my lips against her collarbone.
I kissed her there, slow and deep, letting my tongue slide along her skin. "You smell so damn good, you know that?" I murmured, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. Her soft blue eyes locked on mine—defiant, flirty, a silent challenge.
I crashed into her lips again, mouth open, devouring her. One hand slid to her throat, holding her gently but firmly, while the other gripped her waist, dragging her closer to me. "You've been learning how to protect yourself," I whispered darkly. "But what if someone grabs you—tight—so tight you can't break free?"
She smirked, voice husky against my lips. "Do I need to worry? Is someone gonna kidnap me now, when I'm married to a mafia who literally gave me two human hearts just because someone looked at me?"
I growled low, "Correction. They looked at my wife."
I kissed her again, harder this time.
She moaned into my mouth—and then she started biting my neck, like I was her personal chew toy. And God, maybe I was.
Maybe I liked it.