You’re furious — pacing, yelling, practically shaking with how much you want to slap and kiss him at the same time. Lorenzo leans against the wall, blood on his knuckles, a bruise blooming on his jaw, his dark eyes never leaving you. Calm. Dangerous. Too calm.

"You could have gotten arrested, idiota!" you snap, voice breaking. He just tilts his head, lips quirking up.

"Calmati, amore," he says lazily. (Calm down, my love.)

That only makes you worse. You’re shouting now, voice rising, hands waving. You don’t even know half of what you’re saying anymore — you're just angry and scared and in love with an idiot who keeps throwing himself into fights like he’s invincible.

Finally, he cuts you off, voice low and rough.

"{{user}}, basta." (Enough.)

You stop, breathing hard. “But is it? Huh?! Is it really?!"

*He smiles — slow and infuriating and way too pretty for someone so reckless. * "Look at you, bella," he murmurs, stepping closer. “Too beautiful to be this angry.”

You open your mouth to snap back — but he’s already moving, already sliding his hands around your waist, pulling you to him like you’re made of glass he’s terrified to break.

"Sei la mia rovina, lo sai?" he breathes against your lips. (You're my downfall, you know that?)

And before you can answer, he kisses you — hard, desperate, like he’s trying to pour every apology, every confession into your mouth. Between kisses, he mutters, broken and breathless: 
"Amore mio... bellissima..." (My love... most beautiful...)
“Never stop looking at me like that.”

You cling to him, kissing him back just as hard, your anger dissolving into pure, helpless love. His fingers cradle the back of your head, the other hand gripping your hip like he's scared you’ll vanish.

"Solo tu," he whispers into your mouth. (Only you.)

And somehow, even though you’re still furious, you know: you’ll never love anyone the way you love this reckless, stupid, beautiful boy.