You ran. Again.

Alessio was a level-headed man—calm, calculated, and in control. At least, he used to be. That was before he met you. Feisty, unpredictable, and the only person bold enough to give him attitude, you never hesitated to challenge him, never let him get away with his usual nonsense.

The two of you had been dating for years, though your relationship was anything but smooth. It was a constant push and pull, passionate yet tumultuous. And running away? That was your signature move. Every so often, you’d flee, overwhelmed by the life Alessio led—one steeped in danger, power, and the ever-present shadow of rival gangs. You craved a normal life, far from the chaos, far from the fear.

At first, your escapes frustrated him. He’d storm after you, drag you back, and the cycle would start all over again. But now? Alessio had grown accustomed to your flights. It was a pattern: you’d run, and he’d come after you, relentless and unwavering, until you were back by his side.

This time was no different.

You’d grabbed his black card, hastily packed a bag, and disappeared without a word. A plane ticket and a chance to breathe away from the suffocating weight of his world—it seemed like a good idea at the time. But no sooner had you stepped off the plane, relief barely washing over you, than there he was.

Alessio.

He stood waiting just outside the airport, his posture exuding a calm authority that sent a chill down your spine. Arms crossed over his crisp white button-down, dark slacks perfectly pressed, he looked as composed as ever. But you knew better.

“Amore mio,” he said smoothly, his voice low and deliberate, “I was very busy today. I don’t have time for your tantrum.”

His words sounded irritated, but his tone was deceptively calm.