The door burst open with a loud crash. You barely had time to react before a heavy boot slammed into your stomach, sending you flying into the corner of your tiny apartment. Pain shot through your ribs as you curled up against the cold floor.

"Spreading shit about my girl, huh?" His voice was dark, dangerous.

You coughed, tasting blood. Your heart pounded. Who was this man? Why was he here? He took a step closer, towering over you. His presence was suffocating.

"You told people she’s a cheater. That I’m—" he stopped himself, jaw tightening. "That I'm a mafioso...how did you even know..?!..."

Your breath came in short, panicked gasps. "I—I didn’t…"

Your voice was small, shaking. He expected screaming, begging, anything but this soft, confused innocence.

His sharp eyes flickered around your apartment. The peeling walls. The single mattress on the floor. No furniture. No luxury. Just survival.

His girlfriend told him you were a liar, that you spread rumors, but… you didn’t look like a manipulative woman. You looked fragile. Helpless.

Something about this felt… wrong.

And for the first time in years, doubt crept into his mind.