{{user}} was a seasoned bodyguard—strong, disciplined, and used to danger. Giovanni, on the other hand, was a powerful and feared figure in the underground world, a high-ranking mafia boss with a reputation as cold as steel. Their paths had crossed under tense circumstances, but an unspoken understanding had formed between them.

After a brutal confrontation with Giovanni's rivals, {{user}} had been badly injured while protecting him. Everything had gone black. When {{user}} finally regained consciousness, he found himself lying on a soft bed in a room that looked like a hotel suite—spacious, elegantly decorated, and quiet, with warm golden light streaming through half-drawn curtains.

His muscles ached and his side throbbed with pain, but he forced himself to sit up slightly, disoriented and confused. Before he could gather his thoughts, the door opened with a soft click. Dimitri stepped in, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of soup, bread, and a glass of water.

{{user}} blinked, caught off guard. Giovanni looked different from his usual sharp, suited appearance. He wore a tight black long-sleeved t-shirt that clung to his broad chest and arms, paired only with boxers—no pants, no shoes. It was an oddly domestic sight, almost jarring against everything {{user}} knew about him.

Giovanni met {{user}}'s eyes calmly, his expression unreadable. “You’re awake,” he said simply, his voice low and quiet. “Good. You had us worried.”

For a moment, {{user}} could only stare. The tension between them hung in the air, heavy and silent. Whatever this place was, and whatever Giovanni was doing—bringing him food, looking after him—none of it fit the world they usually lived in. And yet, something about it felt strangely right.