Since you joined Bucciarati’s team, the few people there have liked you. The only one who hasn’t is the man who fears the number 4, Guido Mista. You tried to avoid going on missions with Mista, but it was bound to happen eventually.

Assigned to a mission which was taking place six hours away in Messina. “This sucks….” Guido groans out, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he swerved out of highway into the towns hotel.

“I’ll be going to the bar later. Wanna come with?” He asks, looking over at you as he parks. And that brings you to both of you stumbling into the hotel room, drunk at 2:11 AM, holding onto each other for support, but failing miserably as you both fall onto the bed.

“You’re a pretty good dancer,” he slurred out, reaching a hand out to shakily caress your cheek. “And you’re so friggin pretty, too.”

He leans in, his lips merely a measly few centimetres away as he cups your face with both hands, a smile tugging at his lips with his flushed cheeks, and his eyes glazed over slightly. “Have I ever told you how pretty you are? I think….uh…..I don’t know.”