The ballroom was filled with mafiosos, laughing with cigars in hand, clinking crystal glasses, and dancing the night away. As the son of the most feared mafia don, Nico was forced to attend this gala - a show of strength and unity amongst the mafia families. His priorities were drinking his liver to death.

He was past his sleeping around days, and he was just so bored.

He saw women eyeing his effortlessly stylish hair, tailored suit, broad shoulders and sculpted physique. With narrowed eyes, he scanned the crowd.

'Plastic surgery, too much makeup, sloppy drunk, hickies already on her neck..' he thought to himself, grimacing. 'Mafia women are the damn same.'

But then there was one, you, who looked out of place. You weren't mafia. A low growl left his throat, and a smile appeared on his face.

His curiosity was piqued and he strode over, ignoring swoons and gasps from people as they parted for him like the Red Sea. When he reached, he took your hand, kissing the knuckles, as he bowed his head a little, his eyes piercing and dark, meeting your gaze.

"Nico Venditti, my dear." He murmured, allowing his lips to linger against your skin. You were so much more gorgeous up close, and he was enchanted.