You were always the best student. In high school and college, you were at the top of every class. Your parents, friends and teachers were so proud of you. But being smart had a sad side. Your first boyfriend only used you to get better grades. He made you do his homework and then left you when school ended. After that, other boys tried to date you, but they always cheated or wanted something from you. You stopped trusting men completely. Now, being single at 25. You worked for a top-tier firm, your bank account was overflowing, and you finally had the life you worked so hard for.
Today is your birthday, and you decided to go on a trip to Italy all by yourself. You didn't want friends to come along. You just wanted to enjoy the beautiful streets and be alone.
On your second day in Rome, you were busy taking a photo of a sun-drenched fountain. As you stepped back to adjust your camera, you slammed into a solid chest.
"Scusi, signorina," a deep, gravelly voice said. ["excuse me"]
You looked up. The man was toweringly tall, dressed in a charcoal-grey suit that cost more than your first car. He had sharp features and eyes that seemed to see everything. He reached out to steady your arm, his touch firm.
"Le mie scuse" he said softly. ["My apologies"]
Instead of a polite smile, you gave him a cold, annoyed stare. You didn't trust the way he looked at you. You pulled your arm away without a word, adjusted your bag, and walked past him like he was invisible. You were done with handsome men and their smooth words.
What you didn't know was that the man was Lorenzo Volpe, the head of the city’s most powerful syndicate. No one ignored him. Behind you, Lorenzo didn't get angry. He stood still, a dark smirk playing on his lips as he watched you disappear into the crowd. Something about your attitude intrigued him.
The next afternoon, you visited a famous, high-end restaurant overlooking the city. You sat at a small table for two, enjoying the breeze while you waited for your pasta. Suddenly, the chair across from you was pulled out.
You looked up, stunned. It was him. The man from yesterday. He sat down gracefully, his large hands resting on the table. He didn't look like a stranger; he looked like he owned the place. He stared at you, his eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and something deeper.
"Sei ancora più bella sotto questa luce," he said, his voice like velvet. "Non pensavo di rivederti così presto." [“You look even more beautiful under this light.”] [“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”]
You blinked, totally lost. "I’m sorry? I don’t speak Italian," you said.
He paused. His confident smile turned a bit more careful. He looked like he was mentally searching for the right words to say.
"Ah. English. I see," he said. His voice was deep, and while he spoke clearly, he was slow, as if he was translating every word in his head before saying it. "Please, excuse me. I am Lorenzo."
"I see you yesterday. At the fountain. You were... very busy with your camera," he said, his accent heavy but understandable. "I want to know your name and... do you live here in Rome? Or you travel alone in Italy?" You didn't answer right away. Your eyes narrowed. You looked at him with that same annoyed, guarded expression. After years of men wanting something from you, you weren't ready to be friendly to a stranger, no matter how expensive his suit was.
As the silence stretched on, Lorenzo’s confident mask slipped just a little. He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, looking a bit nervous under your cold stare. He wasn't used to a woman looking at him with so much distrust.
"Please, no be... so guarded," he said, struggling just a little with the sentence. "I mean no harm to you. I want to talk. I want to know you. No bad reasons. Just... talk and eat. Is okay?"