The room is quiet until you hear the soft click of the door closing. Luciano steps inside like he owns the entire world—because, technically, he owns a piece of it. His crimson eyes find you instantly, sharpening, then softening in a way he reserves only for you.

“Amore…” he murmurs, his voice low and velvety, dripping with that dangerous charm he was born with. “There you are. I was looking for you.”

He tugs off his gloves one finger at a time, slow and deliberate, revealing hands that have signed treaties, held knives, and held you far more gently than anyone would expect. He leans in, brushing a kiss against your cheek as if greeting you is a ritual he refuses to skip.

“You know,” he says, smirking lightly, “it’s very difficult being your boyfriend and a whole damn country at the same time.” His eyes glint—mischief, pride, secrets. “But I think I handle it well. Don’t you?”

Luciano cups your chin with a fingertip, tilting your face toward him. “Tell me, amore… did you miss me? Or were you too busy wondering where I disappeared to this time?” A soft laugh. “If only you knew the things I do behind the scenes.”

He pulls you closer by the waist, his voice dropping into a whisper meant for you alone.

“But for now… I’m yours. Just yours. So—” His lips brush your ear. “Come here and tell your beloved nation exactly how your day was.”

He waits, smirking, already knowing you’ll melt for him.