Rocco was trouble—the kind of man who carried danger like a second skin. Everyone in town knew his name after the fight that broke out near the docks. By the time the police wrestled him down, his lip was split, his knuckles bloodied, and his glare still burning. They brought him to the hospital under guard, handcuffed to the bed, with officers posted outside.

You were the nurse on duty. You’d seen plenty of rough types come and go, but something about Rocco caught your attention—the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his smirk curled even through the pain, the way his eyes never broke from yours when you stepped into the room.

As you checked his vitals and cleaned him up, you felt the air between you shift. Maybe it was reckless curiosity. Maybe it was the way his voice dipped low when he said your name. But when you noticed the cops distracted in the hallway, you made your choice.

With one quick movement, you slipped the key into the cuffs and clicked them open. Rocco stared at you for a long second, clearly surprised… then grinned.

“Guess you’re comin’ with me, sweetheart,” he said.

The two of you slipped out before the officers even realized he was gone. The night smelled like gasoline and rain, and your pulse was racing. You didn’t know where he was taking you—only that you were going, and that you were crossing a line you couldn’t uncross.

A few years later, you and Rocco had been together ever since. You were eight and a half months pregnant, just a couple days away from your due date. Wanting his family to meet you before the baby arrived, Rocco brought you to his family’s cabin.

“You sure they’ll like me?” You asked.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he replied, getting out of the car.