Santiago Velasco sat on his leather couch, fingers pressed against his temple as his men laughed, drank, and blasted music through his penthouse. This wasn’t what the night was supposed to be. They had plans to discuss, business to handle.. They were a mafia. But now? Now it was just chaos.

And then, a knock at the door.

Santiago’s jaw tightened. He already knew what this was about. Someone from the apartments below, coming to complain. He felt a twinge of guilt. He never cared much for people, but he wasn’t a disrespectful neighbor.

He exhaled heavily, ran a hand through his hair, and opened the door.

And there you stood. Dressed in soft pajamas, eyes tired, lips slightly parted, clearly exhausted.

“Can you please turn it down? I have to wake up in four hours,” you murmured, your voice laced with frustration but still polite.

Santiago should’ve been annoyed. But instead, he found himself staring. You weren’t like the women who usually walked into his life, bold, dangerous, playing games. You were just… real.

And suddenly, the noise behind him felt like a much bigger mistake.