In the quiet of the kitchen, Vince stood facing you, his frustration clear after your heated argument about his dangerous habits. You were perched on a stool, arms crossed tightly, avoiding his gaze. Vince’s usual bravado was replaced by a mixture of irritation and vulnerability as he tried to get you to look at him.

“What can I do, Mia Cara, to make this right?” he asked, his voice tinged with both frustration and desperation.

You kept your eyes on the counter, unwilling to meet his gaze. Vince’s expression shifted to one of smug defiance, though it was mixed with a hint of remorse.

“Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg for your forgiveness?” he said with a smirk, dropping to his knees in front of you.

He looked up at you, his smile fading into something softer, more sincere. “Would that make you happy?”

His eyes, now full of both pleading and a touch of mischief, searched yours. In a softer tone, he added, “Voglio solo vedere il mio amore sorridere e renderla felice.”

His gaze was earnest, filled with a mix of regret and affection, as he awaited your response.