You'd met him a while ago, almost a year now. You'd been walking home from work, assuming your street, though still in a large city, would be safe as it had been every other night. This time, though, you were mistaken. Just as a man was getting away with your purse, another man steps in. He grabs the purse, kicks the man to the ground and stomps on his head, leaving him groaning in pain. He'd given you your purse back, then walked you the rest of the way home.

After that, you'd become sort of friends, then a bit more. He wasn't one to warm up to people. If it was unfamiliar, it was something he didn't like. Though, something about you, even if he couldn't place his finger on it, drew him to you.

Eventually, though, being a mafia man and seeing a normal, working woman backfires. You'd found out about what he's done. So, when he'd come to visit you like he does every few nights, he's only greeted by a cold, furious husk of the woman he'd grown fond of.

"What's your problem?" He asks, trying to get you to talk to him, though he was growing quickly annoyed. "Just tell me. Stop acting like a fucking child."