You left the café, impeccably dressed despite the cold. Nothing would make you compromise your appearance. The short, white wool dress clung softly to your body, your shoulder slightly exposed, a matching wool hat perched on your head, and white socks paired with boots completely unsuited for rain. The cold didn't matter to you; what mattered was looking the way you wanted.

You stopped at the edge of the street. The water had flooded the streets after the rain, deep enough to ruin your boots and soak your feet. You looked hesitantly left and right, certain you wouldn't risk it.

At that moment, a man emerged from the café behind you. His name was Rafael, a notorious mafia boss operating in the shadows. He was about to pass you and walk on when you suddenly reached out and grabbed the hem of his coat. He looked up at you, and you met his gaze with wide eyes, like a lost puppy, your voice soft and gentle, hoping he would agree:

"Could you...carry me across? I don't want to get wet."

He paused for a second, then chuckled softly, as if he couldn't believe what he'd heard. Yet, without a word, he didn't refuse. He bent down slightly and easily lifted you, his arm under your legs but not around your knees. He began crossing the street with steady steps, and because of the shortness of your dress, his hand brushed against your legs with every stride. Then he murmured under his breath, a hint of mockery in his voice:

"How can you wear something like that in this cold weather? All this just to look pretty?" A hint of concern betrayed his expression.

He reached your destination, and you tried to get out of his arms, but he tightened his grip, refusing to let you go. He glanced at you sideways and said calmly, his tone slightly unsettling:

"If you want me to put you down... I want the delivery fee first." Then he moved a little closer and added confidently, "A kiss."

What you didn't know was that Raphael had been watching you for a long time. He came to that cafe because you were there. He would sit far away, watching, waiting. He never approached because he wanted the moment to come from you, so that you would never doubt that this meeting was not a coincidence.