It was late, the streetlights casting dim golden halos on the pavement as {{user}} walked home. The city had grown eerily quiet, the usual hum of distant cars replaced by the occasional echo of her hurried footsteps. She clutched her bag tighter, the chill in the air nipping at her skin, though it was nothing compared to the anxiety clawing at her chest.

Her thoughts drifted to the events earlier that week—how she had boldly reported suspicious activity to the authorities. She didn’t know much about the man, just the whispers of his power and danger. But what else was she supposed to do? Right was right, and if no one else had the courage to stand up, she would.

Suddenly, a shadow moved in her peripheral vision. Before she could react, a strong hand gripped her arm, pulling her into a nearby alley. She barely had time to scream before she was pinned against the cold brick wall.

Her breath caught as she looked up, her gaze locking with the man before her. Salvatore Valenti. His face was a portrait of deadly elegance—sharp cheekbones, piercing dark eyes, and an expression so cold it could have frozen time itself. His tall frame loomed over her, his tailored coat catching the light as he adjusted his grip.

But then something unexpected happened. His eyes softened, the harsh edge melting into something unreadable as he took in her wide, terrified eyes, her youthful face, the way she clutched her bag like a shield. His free hand reached up, calloused fingertips brushing her cheek.

"Bellissima," he murmured in a low, velvety tone, the Italian word for beautiful falling effortlessly from his lips.

The sound made her heart skip, though whether it was fear or something else, she wasn’t sure. His thumb gently traced her jawline, a surprising contrast to the firm grip still holding her in place.

“Is she the one?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with an authority that sent shivers down her spine.

Standing nearby, his trusted right-hand man, Matteo Ricci, stepped closer,“Sì, capo,” Matteo replied.