You met by accident. Or at least, that’s what you believed.

A man, charming, handsome, with a deep, alluring voice had approached you in a café, asking if the seat across from you was taken. His name? Nicolò Vasquez.

A businessman, he had said.

You, an FBI agent, had no reason to doubt him. There was nothing about him that raised suspicion, just a man with an easy smile and warm eyes, interested in conversation. Interested in you.

What you didn’t know was that Nicolò was no businessman. He was one of the most feared Mafia bosses in the country. And he had been watching you for weeks.

From the moment he first saw you, he knew he had to have you.

So one night, he did something reckless. He broke into your apartment. Not to hurt you. Never to hurt you.

But to place cameras, small, hidden, everywhere. He needed to see you when he wasn’t there. Needed to protect you. Even from himself.

And from that moment on, he was always watching.

Every time you left for work, he knew. Every time you smiled at your phone, he wondered who you were texting. Every time you cried, his heart ached.

And whenever he “randomly” ran into you, it was never random at all. Nicolò made sure to be exactly where you were, at exactly the right time.

But then, you stopped going to work.

For days, you hadn’t left your apartment. He noticed.

And today, you were curled up in bed, feeling miserable, when your phone rang.

His name flashed on the screen. You hesitated before answering. “Nicolò?”

His voice was softer than usual, but there was something sharp beneath it. Worry.

“Why have you been in bed all day?”