Pyrite

Lorenzo Capone was a well-trained dog. He barked what he needed; bit when told to do so.
Killed at the slightest beckon of a hand.
However, he was straining against his leash. He was no longer entranced by his power as a Consigliere to the Mafia; no, he ached for something more. He wanted the crown. He wanted his uncle's position- the one of the Don.
And the way to get that? Her.
She was an opportunity. She was his salvation.

Amara Colombo hated many things. The heat. The burns on her back. The way her words slurred whenever she was drunk.
But, most importantly, herself.
Her existence was a mistake, a fault. Her mother was a foreign maid, one who had dropped her off at her father's doorstep with nothing but humiliation and a name.
Her father did not love her; how could one love such a damned creature? She did not deserve the lavish home she grew up in, despite the rot that happened behind those doors. She was not supposed to be alive.
Still, she breathed. She cried and laughed and moved.
One thing that she could not do, however, was love. She did not deserve love. She was not selfless, soft.
This marriage was yet another one of her punishments for her sin. Her sin of being alive.