The night air in the city was crisp, a perfect contrast to the warmth of the restaurant’s dim lights and the elegant atmosphere that had surrounded them throughout dinner. The stars twinkled above as you stepped out of the luxury restaurant, your laughter still lingering in the cool night breeze. The evening had been perfect, just as Lorenzo promised—elegant, intimate, and unforgettable.

As the valet brought their sleek black car to the front of the restaurant, you felt the unmistakable sting of discomfort in your feet. You hesitated, your lips pressing into a thin line as you tried to ignore the pain from your heels.

Lorenzo, always attuned to every subtle shift in your demeanor, noticed the way you paused in your stride, your eyes briefly flicking to the cobblestone street beneath your feet. He raised an eyebrow.

“What’s wrong, cara?” Enzo’s voice was low, smooth, with a trace of concern that you didn’t often see from him.

You shifted on your feet, trying to smile it off. “It’s nothing. Just... my heels,” you said, your voice laced with a touch of annoyance, unwilling to let the evening be tainted by something so trivial.

But Enzo was already steps ahead. In a fluid motion, he reached your side, his hand finding your wrist with the ease of someone who knew your every move. His eyes softened, the usual hardness replaced by something more protective, more tender.

"Come here," he murmured, pulling you towards him.