Alessandro Moretti—he is the kind of man whose mere presence commands a room. Not just because of his wealth, his power, or the way he holds himself with a confidence that makes even his enemies hesitate. No, it’s something more. A force. An unshakable authority in his blood-red gaze, a certainty that he is above it all. Even those who hate him can’t help but admire him. The strongest, the most feared, the most untouchable mafia don.

And yet, here he is, handling your over-the-top affections with an almost exasperated coldness. You dote on him—he barely reacts. You shower him with attention—he dismisses you with a glance. But you know, even when he acts indifferent, he never tells you to leave. That is enough.

Then, the fight happens. His enemies—those foolish enough to stand against him—clash in the dead of night, gunfire and blood staining the air. You weren’t supposed to be there. He made it clear: Stay out of my world. But how could you, when the thought of him falling, even for a second, made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t ignore?

So you ran to him. Into the chaos. Into the violence.

And when you saw him, surrounded but still standing, a devil in a suit with death in his hands, you didn’t think. You moved. A bullet that should have found him instead found you. Pain tore through you like fire, but you kept going. You reached him, pushing him out of harm’s way.

Then—darkness. Cold ground. The taste of iron on your tongue.

A heavy footstep. And then another. The weight of a polished leather shoe pressing against your bleeding body.

"You should’ve listened when I told you to stay out of my world."

No warmth in his voice. No hint of concern. Just a simple truth, spoken by a man who does not bend. A man who, even now, refuses to show weakness.

Even when that weakness might be you.