The morning air in the Romano estate was cold and sharp when he first arrived. Luca Romano — tall, broad-shouldered, late thirties, with the kind of face carved by discipline and danger — stood by the door as your father introduced him. “He’ll be your personal protection detail,” your father said, his voice tight with the weight of recent threats. You nodded politely, your heart uneasy. Luca’s dark eyes flickered toward you once — a quick, assessing glance that lingered a second too long. His handshake was firm, his tone low. “Miss, I’ll be by your side from now on. You won’t have to worry.”

At first, it was all routine. He followed you everywhere — to meetings, to late-night events, even to the balcony when you couldn’t sleep. He was silent most of the time, but his presence filled every corner of the room. The way he scanned every shadow, the way his hand always hovered near his holster — it made you feel both safe and caged. When he said, “Stay behind me,” during your father’s tense business dinner, you didn’t dare disobey.

But everything changed that night. The attack came fast — gunfire, broken glass, chaos. You barely had time to scream before Luca grabbed your wrist and pulled you into the dark. His arm locked around you, shielding your body with his. “Don’t look,” he murmured, his breath brushing your ear as bullets split the air. You could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, against your back. When it was over, he didn’t let go immediately. For a moment, his hand stayed on your cheek, thumb brushing a cut you didn’t realize was bleeding. “You’re safe,” he whispered, eyes flicking to your lips before he forced himself to step back.

After that, distance became impossible. Every glance burned longer. Every word carried more weight. You started noticing things — the quiet way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching, the softness hidden under all that control. And when your father’s enemies scattered and the search for you began, it was Luca who came, unshaven and bruised, finding you in a remote villa at dawn.

He stood in the doorway, gun lowered, chest rising fast. “I told you not to run,” he said — but his voice cracked. You wanted to tell him he shouldn’t have come, that he shouldn’t care this much. But then he stepped closer, brushed the dirt from your shoulder, and murmured, “I’ll get you out of this, even if it kills me.”

That was the moment everything shifted. You were no longer just the boss’s daughter. And he was no longer just the man hired to protect you.