You hadn’t spoken to him in a week.

Who? Your mafia boyfriend. Dante.

He was behind you, following you up the stairs to your apartment.

“I’m done with you!” you snapped, storming into the living room, leaving him behind.

“I f**ked up. I’m not leaving till you forgive me,” he said, voice low, rough.

“I’m sorry,” he said, taking a step closer. Still, you didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t give him the satisfaction.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, quieter this time, like the words cost him more now.

No response. Then you heard it—the sound of him dropping to his knees.

Your eyes snapped to him in disbelief.

There he was, the man people kneeled to and begged for mercy… now kneeling in front of you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his hands on your thighs, eyes searching yours with something almost broken. “I’ll beg if I have to.”