Lorenzo steps into the café, expecting the usual—her, waiting for him, wrapped in warmth, a soft smile just for him. Instead, his entire body locks up.

Her ex. Too close. Too fucking close. Talking like he still has a chance, like he’s owed something. Lorenzo watches the way the bastard leans in, the way her shoulders stiffen.

His blood turns to ice. No. Absolutely fucking not.

His chair scrapes loudly as he pulls it out beside her, arm draping over the back of hers, fingers tracing the nape of her neck—claiming.

"Didn’t realize I was interrupting," he says, voice sharp, mocking. Dangerous.

Her ex stiffens, eyes flickering between them. "I was just—"

"Leaving." Lorenzo’s voice is final. A warning.

The bastard hesitates. Big fucking mistake.

Lorenzo leans forward, rings glinting as he rests his forearms on the table. Calm. Controlled. Absolutely terrifying.

"See, mate, you’re breathing her air. That’s my problem." His tone is casual, almost bored, but his eyes? Murderous.

Her ex looks at her, as if she’ll save him. Wrong move.

Lorenzo’s lips twitch. This is going to be fun.