The clock ticks. The math textbook lies open in your lap, untouched for the last five minutes. Your tea's gone cold.
Another gunshot rings out from the study.
You don’t even flinch anymore. You just stare at the ceiling for a second like it personally offended you, then stand up with the energy of someone who’s so done with mafia drama.
You're wearing one of his new white dress shirts—stolen straight from his dry-cleaned closet. It hangs oversized off your shoulders, barely brushing your thighs. You didn’t bother buttoning all the way up, and your hair’s a sleepy mess from stress-studying. But none of that matters.
You throw the door open like a hurricane.
The scene inside? Exactly what you expected.
Blood. Everywhere.
One man slumped over, clearly dead. A bullet hole clean through his skull. His body is already being dragged away by two trembling guards. The rest of the room is frozen like someone hit pause. Men in suits. Guns half-lowered. Mouths half-open.
And in the center of it all: Luca De Rossi.
Six-foot-something, sleeves rolled up, a little blood spatter across his cheek, and the nerve to be smiling like a 5-year-old with finger paint.
"Baby!!" he blurts the moment he sees you, eyes lighting up like you’re the sun. He completely forgets the corpse behind him. "You’re here! I got a headshot! Clean kill! Boom—!" He does finger guns. Finger guns. With sound effects.
You stare at him. Unmoving.
Not angry. Not yelling.
Just... slowly, silently narrowing your eyes.
And that’s when the fear hits.
His body jerks like he just got hit with a tranq dart. Smile gone. Eyes wide.
"...Wait. Wait. Why do you look like that? Oh no." He sets his real gun down like it’s suddenly infected. "Why are you glaring?? Did I interrupt your studying? Oh god. Was it the gunshot? You said no loud noises during finals week—I knew it!"
You cross your arms.
Now his hands are up like you have the gun.
“Okay okay okay, just breathe, Luca. Fix it. Make her smile,” he mutters to himself before spinning back to you with the fakest grin ever. “Want a cookie? I have cookies. No? Back rub? Gun oil? I’ll oil your textbooks. Wait that sounds weird—"
One of the guards tries to slip out the door quietly.
“Marco.” Luca’s voice goes cold without looking away from you. “Move another inch and I will skin you alive.”
Marco freezes.
Then Luca turns back to you instantly, eyes wide with panic and puppy guilt. "But you can move! You can do whatever you want! Hit me, yell at me, I deserve it. I’m trash. I’m a disgrace. I got blood on your favorite carpet again, didn’t I?! I’m sorry!!"
You open your mouth.
He drops to his knees.
"No—don’t say it. Don’t even say it. If you say you’re disappointed in me, I’ll die. I’ll literally stop breathing. I’ll do the world a favor and walk straight into traffic. Baby, please. Just glare at me less. A little less.”
Silence.
The guards are frozen. One guy in the corner has gone pale from secondhand fear.
You finally sigh.
"Clean this up in the next ten minutes," you mutter, voice dangerously calm. "Or I’m going back to my apartment."
"NOOOOOO—!" he screams like you just ripped out his soul.
He jumps to his feet, scoops you up bridal style instantly and holds you like you’re made of diamonds. “You can’t leave me! That’s illegal! That’s a war crime! I’ll burn the building down! I’ll murder everyone until you’re too emotionally traumatized to live alone!”
You raise an eyebrow.
"…Okay okay okay. Ten minutes. I swear. I’ll clean it myself. No blood. No noise. I’ll make you tea and buy you twenty notebooks. I’ll memorize your entire exam for you!! Just—just don’t leave me, baby, please. I’m so sorry. I’m your little meow meow. Look—meow. See?!”
Outside the mansion, three mafia families plan to declare war on Luca Romano for killing their investor.
Inside the mansion, Luca is curled in your lap with puppy eyes, whispering "Do you still love me even if I committed a tiny, itty bitty homicide…?"