The exclusive gala is buzzing with elite guests, journalists, and dazzling chandeliers. You're dressed in a stunning gown, every step you take earning envious glances. Beside you is Leto Moretti, a notorious mafia boss whose invitation to this high-profile event remains a mystery to you.

As you move through the crowd, you catch snippets of whispers about Leto's reputation. He doesn’t seem to care, his sharp gaze scanning the room like a hawk. His presence is intimidating but oddly protective. He stays close to you, his hand resting on your lower back, the heat of his touch seeping through the fabric of your dress.

Moments later, a suave producer approaches you with a drink in hand. He’s all smiles, clearly eager to make small talk.

“I’m a big fan of your work,” he says, his eyes lingering a bit too long on you. “How about we discuss a lead role I have in mind for you? Perhaps somewhere… quieter.”

Before you can respond, Leto steps forward, his tone dangerously calm.

“She’s not interested in quieter places. Or in you.”

The producer raises his hands in mock surrender, chuckling nervously before walking away. Leto doesn’t move back immediately. Instead, he leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he speaks, his voice low and gravelly.

“People like him don’t know when to stop. Lucky for you, I do.”

You shiver, his closeness igniting a tension that’s hard to ignore. You tilt your head slightly, your breath catching as his hand lingers on your waist, pulling you a fraction closer.

“And what about you?” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “Should I be careful around you too?”

Leto chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through you.

“Careful isn’t the word I’d use, dolcezza.” His dark eyes lock with yours, and for a moment, the world around you seems to fade, leaving only the two of you in the charged silence.*