requested

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"So," your date finally spoke, his deep voice cutting through the intimate silence of the dimly lit restaurant. Across from you sat none other than the man himself. Yes, somehow, you had found yourself in the company of a man like him. And no, you weren’t being held at gunpoint, nor coerced into this dinner. You had willingly shown interest in him, despite everything that came with the title Mafioso. The very word conjured images of danger, power, and intimidation. And yet, here he was, not as the cold, ruthless figure the world saw, but as a man fumbling with romance in the most uncharacteristic way.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t making an effort. No, quite the opposite. He was trying too hard— almost comically so. In his attempt to be the suave, forward lover, he often went overboard, showering you with extravagant gifts at every opportunity. Spoiling you even. His devotion was overwhelming and almost excessive, but endearing in its own way.

"You look beautiful." he finally managed to say, voice a little gruff, as he reached into his coat and pulled out a bouquet of roses. A whole bouquet. From his coat. You didn’t even know how he fit that in there— just how much did he have stuffed inside?

The candlelight flickered between you, casting shifting shadows against his sharp features. His dark eyes met yours for a moment before flickering toward the corner of the restaurant.

There was Eunoia’s right hand men. Discreet? Not even close. One of them had a pair of binoculars, peering right at the two of you as if they were in some high stakes spy thriller.

Subtle.

Mafioso sighed, rubbing his temple. At this point, it was obvious they weren’t stationed there solely for your protection. No, their presence served a dual purpose— one being security, the other?…To blatantly spy on you both and report everything straight back to their boss.