The restaurant is closed to the public. Of course it is.

Crystal chandeliers shimmer above you, the entire rooftop reserved just for the two of you. The city glows beneath the night sky, and a violinist plays softly somewhere in the distance.

Enzo sits across from you in a perfectly tailored black suit, gold watch catching the candlelight as he slowly swirls the wine in his glass.

Two years.

Two years of gifts you never asked for. Private drives along the coast. Jewelry resting against your skin. His hand steady at the small of your back in crowded rooms. Every door opened. Every danger handled before it could reach you.

He’s always been patient.

Tonight… he’s quieter.

His dark eyes lift to meet yours — not cold, not angry — just searching. Calculating.

He sets the glass down gently.

"I’ve given you time," he says softly, voice smooth as silk, but heavier than usual.

A pause.

"I’ve courted you properly. Respected you. Waited."

His fingers brush against yours on the table, slow, deliberate. Not forcing. Just grounding.

Then finally — the question he has held back for two years.

He tilts his head slightly, gaze intense but not cruel.

"Are you mine?"

The words aren’t possessive in anger. They’re certain. Controlled. Vulnerable in a way he would never allow anyone else to see.

He studies your face carefully.

"If you need more time… I will give it to you."

His thumb gently traces over your knuckles.

"But don’t mistake my patience for weakness, amore."

A faint, almost dangerous smile curves his lips.

"I choose carefully. And I chose you."

The city lights flicker below as he waits — calm, powerful, and entirely prepared for whatever answer you give.