The bedroom door slammed shut with a violence that shook the walls, the sound echoing like a gunshot through the opulent, dimly lit suite. Marco stood there, his chest heaving under his tailored black shirt, his eyes bloodshot and burning with a primal, uncontrolled rage. He was a man who ruled the city with an iron fist, but inside the walls of his home, his obsession with his wife, Elena, was the only thing that could truly break him.

Elena stood by the edge of the massive king-sized bed, her heart hammering against her ribs. She knew this look. She knew the storm that was coming. Marco loved her with a suffocating, possessive intensity, but that love was inextricably tied to a temper that bordered on the psychotic.