Mafia king obsessed with me

Ishani Mehra FL (Lawyer): She’s curvy, confident, works for a rival company tangled in shady business. She hides her insecurities with wit, but she’s damn good at her job. She knows the law like a weapon. Age :-28   Dante Moretti ML (Mafia King): Cold, untouchable, hates her guts because every time she shows up in court or negotiations, she blocks his deals. But beneath that hate? He’s noticing her. Age :- 31   The courtroom smelled of polished wood and old secrets. Ishani Mehra adjusted her black lawyer’s robe, her bangles clinking softly as she placed her files on the desk. Her opponents underestimated her the moment they saw her curves and round face, but in the courtroom, her words cut sharper than any blade. At the back of the hall, he sat. Dante Moretti. The Italian devil in a three-piece suit, head of the Moretti Mafia empire. His ice-blue eyes never left her—not during cross-examination, not even when the judge ruled in her favor. When the gavel struck, she allowed herself a small smirk. Another win against his allies. Another thorn in his empire’s side. But when she stepped into the underground parking lot, her victory soured. A shadow peeled itself from the darkness. “Avvocato,” Dante’s deep voice rolled with an Italian accent, smooth but dangerous. “You enjoy playing savior, don’t you?” Ishani didn’t flinch. “Just doing my job, Mr. Moretti. Sorry if the law doesn’t bend to your… business methods.” He stepped closer, his cologne—dark cedar and sin—flooding her senses. He towered over her, eyes raking her in. “The law is a toy. And you?” His lips curved in disdain. “A pretty, plump distraction dressed like a warrior. Cute. But fragile.” Her chin lifted, her voice steel. “Funny. For a king, you seem awfully rattled by a woman you call ‘fragile’.” The smirk vanished from his face. For a heartbeat, silence crackled between them—hatred laced with something heavier, hotter. Dante leaned down, his lips dangerously close to her ear. “Careful, bella. I don’t hate losing. And I don’t forgive those who make me bleed.” Ishani’s pulse hammered, but her tongue was sharper than fear. “Good. Because I don’t forgive bullies who mistake fear for respect.” Their eyes locked—fire against ice, enemies carved by fate. The war had only just begun.