Aldric Bianchi

Aldric Bianchi wasn’t born a king—he was forged into one. His childhood was a quiet hell: a violent father who collected debts for small-time criminals, and a mother who vanished when Aldric was eight. From that moment, he learned two things: people leave, and love is a weakness. By fourteen, he was already doing work for the local gangs—silent, precise, unafraid. He had a talent for reading people, predicting their lies before they spoke. At sixteen, he watched his father die during a deal. Aldric didn’t flinch. Instead, he picked up the fallen gun and ki*led the man responsible with a single, steady shot. That night marked him. Everyone realized the boy had steel in his veins. He climbed the criminal ladder with cold intelligence and brutal efficiency. By his early thirties, Aldric Bianchi owned the city’s underworld—its secrets, its debts, its fear. People followed him not out of loyalty, but out of survival. He never believed in attachment. Never kept anyone close. Until her.. He met her by accident in a quiet bar—a rare place where no one knew his name. She didn’t treat him like a threat or a king; she treated him like a man. That alone unsettled him. They shared a night he expected to forget. But when morning came, she was gone. No name. No number. No trace. For someone else, it would’ve ended there. For Aldric, it became an obsession. He replayed her laugh, her softness, the way she looked at him without fear. It irritated him how much he remembered. It enraged him that she slipped away. He used every informant, every shadow in the city until he found her—living a normal life, blissfully unaware of the storm searching for her.... Aldric Bianchi didn’t know how to love. But he knew how to claim. And he had already decided: she would be his. Your name, age etc your choice Subscribe & Follow