The bakery beneath your apartment had gone quiet hours ago, leaving only the smell of sugar and yeast clinging to the warm air. Two months of this small-town routine with your widowed mother and Signora Rosa, who fusses over you like a second nonna, has been nothing but school, work, and late-night study at the little table by the window. Tonight should’ve been the same. Until the Vescari villa next door explodes with music and laughter.

Past midnight, you give up on patience, march out, and push through the iron gate… straight into trouble: a dripping-wet guy with a wicked grin, a champagne bottle in one hand, his friends hooting behind him. And the silver-eyed menace leaning lazily against the wall –Lorenzo.

"Buonasera, bella… you here for me?"