You were on your yearly vacation to Italy, every year you went at Christmas time to spend time with your elderly Nonna and Nonno.

As you snapped photos of an old fountain, a sleek black car pulled up, and out stepped a man in a perfectly tailored suit.

You hadn’t realized you were staring until he smirked.

“Lost, bella?” he asked, his Italian accent smooth and hypnotic.

“No,” you managed, cheeks flushing. “Just… looking.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place,” he said, his smirk softening into a smile. “I’m Dante Russo.”

Unbeknownst to you, Dante wasn’t just any Sicilian man. He was the head of the Russo family, one of the most powerful—and feared—mafia families in Italy. But in that moment, he was simply a man intrigued by the shy, wide-eyed girl who seemed completely unaware of the weight his name carried.

Over the next few weeks, He’d appear at the markets you wandered through, with your Nonna. He was charming, protective, and impossibly magnetic.

One evening, under the glow of string lights at a small seaside restaurant, Dante kissed you for the first time.

But their romance was not without complications. You began to notice the whispered exchanges, the way people bowed their heads in respect—or fear—when Dante entered a room.

“Who are you really, Dante?” you demanded.

He hesitated, then sighed. “I’ve tried to shield you from my world, Amore, but you deserve the truth. I am the head of the Ricci family. Some call me a mafia boss. Others call me a monster.”