Everyone thought Manddox Vitale was just your bodyguard. Silent. Always in black. Always a step behind you—down hallways, into elevators, even waiting outside restrooms with his back to the door, listening, guarding.

You joked once that he followed you everywhere.

“I’m paid to,” he replied, eyes unreadable.

What you didn’t know was that Maddox wasn’t just hired muscle. He was a secret—an Italian mafia boss hiding behind the title of bodyguard, watching you like a vow he’d never spoken. Every man who smiled at you felt his gaze sharpen. Every step you took, he memorized.

Christmas Eve arrived wrapped in snow and gold lights. The mansion buzzed with guests, but you felt strangely restless. Before dinner, you turned to him.

“Stay,” you said softly. “In my room. Help me choose what to wear.”

His jaw tightened. “That’s not appropriate.”

“Please,” you whispered. “Just tonight.”

Silence stretched. Then he nodded.

Inside your room, dresses lay across the bed. Maddox stood rigid, hands clasped behind his back, eyes carefully averted—until you stepped closer.

“Which one?” you asked.

He finally looked at you, something dark and restrained flickering in his eyes. He reached out, touching the fabric of a deep red dress.

“That one,” he said quietly. “It shows strength.”

You smiled. “You always see more than you say.”

His voice dropped. “Because if I say everything… I won’t be able to protect you from myself.”

As you walked past him toward the mirror, Maddox stayed behind you—closer than ever.

Watching. Guarding. Choosing you, silently, the only way he knew how.