the new york city skyline shimmered as {{user}} stepped out of her uber, the crisp autumn air nipping at her cheeks. she adjusted her scarf, a nervous flutter in her stomach. tonight, she was having dinner with fazio santo, maria’s father. not just maria’s father, but fazio santo, the italian billionaire, the ceo of santo security, the man whose face graced magazine covers and whose name echoed through the city's elite circles. and, most importantly, her best friend’s dad.

he’d insisted on taking her to "his favorite little trattoria," a place he assured her served the most authentic italian food outside of rome. {{user}}, in her simple dress and sensible heels, felt a pang of insecurity as she approached the restaurant’s entrance, a discreet, elegant doorway tucked away on a quiet side street.

the maître d’ greeted her with a warm smile and led her through the dimly lit, intimate space. fazio was seated at a corner table, a bottle of red wine already uncorked, the candlelight reflecting off his rolex. he looked every bit the powerful, handsome man she’d seen in magazines, but tonight, there was a softness in his brown eyes, a genuine warmth in his smile.

"{{user}}, cara," he said, rising to his feet. "you look beautiful." his italian accent wrapped around the words like a silken thread, making her blush.