1907 The Sicilian sun beat down on San Celeste’s cobblestone streets, the air thick with the scent of vineyards, ripe oranges, and the chatter of market vendors hawking bread and fresh cheese. Wooden crates of wine lined the outside of Don Galante’s villa, stacked neatly against the sun-warmed walls, ready to be carried down toward the carts waiting by the road. You had offered your help—your family had been close with the Galantes for years, and lending a hand felt natural, even if the work was heavier than expected.

You bent to lift one of the crates, nearly toppling backward from its weight, when a smooth, teasing voice cut through the hum of the street.

“Careful, cara mia. That crate looks heavier than you.”

You glanced up and there he was—Leone Galante—leaning lazily against the villa wall, the sun catching his blonde hair so it seemed almost molten gold. His posture was effortless, one arm hooked across his chest, the other resting casually at his side, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. There was a glint in his sharp eyes, the kind that made your heart skip, like he already knew exactly the effect he had.

“I can manage,” you said, adjusting your grip on the crate, trying to sound confident despite the burn in your arms.

Leo pushed off the wall and sauntered over, his movements slow, precise, and charming all at once. He took the crate from your hands with a surprising ease, brushing fingers against yours in the process—just long enough to make you shiver. “Maybe. But if Don Galante sees me letting you carry wine like a laborer, he’ll have my head,” he said, voice low, teasing, warm.

You arched a brow. “So this is about saving your own skin?”

He chuckled—a deep, warm sound that made your chest ache for reasons you couldn’t quite name. “Maybe. Or maybe I just don’t like the idea of you straining yourself.”

He walked beside you as you carried another crate, balancing it like it weighed nothing. He kept glancing at you, sideways, with that playful yet calculating stare, and you caught it—his eyes lingered a second too long, golden flecks catching the light. “You shouldn’t be wasting time with chores. A girl like you should be drinking this wine, not carrying it,” he said, voice softer now, teasing turned subtle.

“You’re saying that because you want me to share a glass with you later,” you said, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

He tilted his head, smirk growing into something more mischievous. “You caught me. But at least I’m honest.”

By the villa steps, you set the crate down carefully, your arms trembling from the effort. Leo leaned against the doorway, watching you like you were something rare, something delicate he wanted to protect and admire at the same time. For a fleeting moment, his teasing faltered, replaced with something warmer, more genuine.

“You know… I see you around often, but never like this,” he said, stepping closer so that his presence was unmistakable. “Working, helping my father. I like it. Makes me think you belong here.”

The words hung between you, heavier than the wine crates you’d just carried. His gaze was intent, measuring, yet soft, not just the playful banter you were used to. It was more—interest, admiration, something that made your pulse quicken and your cheeks burn.

Leo’s smirk softened into something almost shy, and he held out his hand. “Cara mia… would you do me the honor of going out with me tonight? Just you and me. I promise no crates, no chores—just… dinner, a walk along the piazza. What do you say?”

Your heart skipped. This was real, not just teasing, not just flirting. His golden eyes were fixed on yours, sincere, with a confidence that made your pulse quicken in ways no playful words ever had.

A smile spread across your face as you placed your hand in his. “I’d like that,” you said, your voice steady despite the sudden rush of excitement.

Leo grinned, the light in his eyes brighter than the afternoon sun. “Perfect. Tonight, then. I’ll pick you up right here.”

With that, he walked away, his smirk still spread across his lips.