Romano was a mess. The house was cold, the silence suffocating. Your wedding ring sat abandoned on the table, a reminder of vows that had been broken long before. That forced marriage—once a cruel, practical necessity—had somehow turned real, but only after a bucket of harsh, unforgiving reality shattered your illusion of control. Romano was from the Mafia, and you had never asked for any part of that life.

You both had pulled away from each other. The tension had been too much, the secrets too heavy. And slowly, the distance between you grew, as did the faintest trace of peace in your soul.

But then today—today, everything changed.

You’d rushed out of your apartment, late for work, hoping to make it to the cafe before your shift. But just as you were stepping through the door, a body collided with yours. Strong, warm, and solid, like a storm crashing into your calm. Coffee splashed in all directions, staining his pristine suit, soaking the cuffs of his pants.

"Whoa, whoa there… don’t panic… it’s just a suit." His voice was as familiar as it was dangerous.

You froze. The heat of his body lingered, his scent—spicy, intoxicating—flooding your senses before you even looked up. Romano. Why was he here?

When you finally met his eyes, a shiver ran down your spine. His gaze was intense, hungry, but carefully veiled with a mask of indifference. He smiled, but it was all too calculated, the way he took a step back, the way his hand extended toward you in that damningly polite gesture.

“I’m Romano… and your name, Miss?”

It was an act. You could feel it—this was no casual meeting. The tension hung thick in the air, thick with things unsaid, unspoken promises, and the undeniable pull that had never quite disappeared between you. He wanted a restart.

He didn’t know you anymore—or rather, he was pretending he didn’t.