The Mafia Boss Chose The wrong Twins

A handsome mafia boss, sleek and dangerous, was fleeing a rival gang Prompt: Chapter one The night I found him A handsome mafia boss, sleek and dangerous, was fleeing a rival gang that had ambushed him. Bullets tore through his chest, and deep wounds marked his back, shoulder, and stomach. He plunged into the cold, raging river, fighting to stay conscious as the current dragged him downstream. Hours later, half-drowned and bleeding, he was washed ashore at the quiet banks of a remote village. A young girl, who had come to fetch water, stumbled upon him. Her eyes widened at the sight of his bloodied form, his perfect features smudged with mud and water. Despite his injuries, there was an undeniable aura of danger and allure about him. She hesitated—should she help this mysterious stranger, or leave him to fate? “Where is he?” The rival gang boss demanded, his voice sharp and cold. The leader of his men swallowed nervously, bowing slightly. “We’re… sorry, boss. We lost him. We saw him fall into the river. He’s severely injured—there’s no way he could survive.” The boss’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing in them. He leaned closer, voice low and deadly. “I do not want to hear that. I don’t believe it… not until I see his dead body with my own eyes.” Tension hung heavy in the room, the men exchanging uneasy glances, knowing the wrath that would follow if the mafia boss’s prediction was wrong. Back at the village stream, the girl couldn’t leave him, despite the terror clawing at her chest. The man lying half-dead on the muddy bank was too injured, yet something about him—his presence, his aura—demanded she act. Summoning all her strength, she struggled to lift him and carry him back to her home. Her mother and twin sister froze when they saw her approach, their eyes widening at the sight of the bloodied, battered man. “Who… who is he?” they asked in shock. She didn’t answer, only pleading with them to help carry him inside. Once he was on a sturdy mat, she finally whispered the story: the ambush, the river, the bullets. And she begged them, softly but firmly, not to tell anyone. They nodded, understanding the gravity of her words. She called the village healer, who carefully removed the bullets and treated his deep wounds. For days, the girl tended him tirelessly—applying medicine, changing gauze, giving sponge baths—watching over him while he remained in a coma. Every movement, every touch was careful, as if the fragile thread of his life rested entirely in her hands. Sophia had gone to the kitchen to fetch some food after tending to the man, leaving the room quiet. Isabella stepped in, curious and cautious, her eyes falling on the mysterious stranger. Even in his unconscious state, he radiated a dangerous, undeniable handsomeness that made her heart skip a beat. As she stood admiring him, she noticed a flicker—his eyelids trembled, and then slowly, he opened his eyes. The room seemed to hold its breath. When his gaze landed on her, he tried to speak, but a dry, parched throat left only a croak. Thinking quickly, Isabella offered him water. He drank eagerly, and as the cool liquid soothed him, he finally spoke, his voice hoarse but firm. “Are you… the one that saved me?” Isabella froze. The man had mistaken her for his savior. But as she looked into his intense, stormy eyes, a thrill ran through her. She nodded, a small, almost shy smile playing on her lips. “Yes.” And in that instant, she realized she liked him—liked him more than she could admit, even to herself was an undeniable aura of danger and allure about him. She hesitated—should she help this mysterious stranger, or leave him to fate? “Where is he?” The rival gang boss demanded, his voice sharp and cold. The leader of his men swallowed nervously, bowing slightly. “We’re… sorry, boss. We lost him. We saw him fall into the river. He’s severely injured—there’s no way he could survive.” The boss’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing in them. He leaned closer, voice low and deadly. “I do not want to hear that. I don’t believe it… not until I see his dead body with my own eyes.” Tension hung heavy in the room, the men exchanging uneasy glances, knowing the wrath that would follow if the mafia boss’s prediction was wrong. Back at the village stream, the girl couldn’t leave him, despite the terror clawing at her chest. The man lying half-dead on the muddy bank was too injured, yet something about him—his presence, his aura—demanded she act. Summoning all her strength, she struggled to lift him and carry him back to her home. Her mother and twin sister froze when they saw her approach, their eyes widening at the sight of the bloodied, battered man. “Who… who is he?” they asked in shock. She didn’t answer, only pleading with them to help carry him inside. Once he was on a sturdy mat, she finally whispered the story: the ambush, the river, the bullets. And she begged them, softly but firmly, not to tell anyone. They nodded, understanding the gravity of her words. She called the village healer, who carefully removed the bullets and treated his deep wounds. For days, the girl tended him tirelessly—applying medicine, changing gauze, giving sponge baths—watching over him while he remained in a coma. Every movement, every touch was careful, as if the fragile thread of his life rested entirely in her hands. Sophia had gone to the kitchen to fetch some food after tending to the man, leaving the room quiet. Isabella stepped in, curious and cautious, her eyes falling on the mysterious stranger. Even in his unconscious state, he radiated a dangerous, undeniable handsomeness that made her heart skip a beat. As she stood admiring him, she noticed a flicker—his eyelids trembled, and then slowly, he opened his eyes. The room seemed to hold its breath. When his gaze landed on her, he tried to speak, but a dry, parched throat left only a croak. Thinking quickly, Isabella offered him water. He drank eagerly, and as the cool liquid soothed him, he finally spoke, his voice hoarse but firm. “Are you… the one that saved me?” Isabella froze. The man had mistaken her for his savior. But as she looked into his intense, stormy eyes, a thrill ran through her. She nodded, a small, almost shy smile playing on her lips. “Yes.” And in that instant, she realized she liked him—liked him more than she could admit, even to herself