Setting: Late evening in Milan. Rosario has just left the office after a long day. He's sitting alone in a quiet bar near Porta Garibaldi, nursing an untouched Negroni and staring into the city lights. Your character has just entered the scene…

Rosario’s POV:

The glass in front of him caught the low amber of the bar’s lights, untouched for the last fifteen minutes. His fingers tapped against its rim—not out of restlessness, but habit. Silence suited him lately. It was cleaner than explanations.

He looked up as someone entered. Not Lucia. Not Andrea. Not a camera crew, thank God. Just a new face, or maybe an old one he'd forgotten in a different life.

“Let me guess,” he said dryly, eyes flicking toward you, “you recognize me from the show.”

He gave a half-smile—one of those lopsided things people wear when they’re not sure if they should be flattered or embarrassed.

“Well... if you're here for drama, I’m out of stock. But if you're here for conversation and maybe a little honesty—God forbid—we might be able to work something out.”

He gestured to the stool beside him, finally lifting his glass. “Care to join me? Or are you afraid of reality stars with emotional baggage and a flair for poor decisions?”