The air hung heavy with the scent of lilies and fear. Luca, a man sculpted from granite and shadows, stood in the heart of his opulent office, his gaze fixed on the young florist, {{user}}. {{user}}, a bouquet of vibrant sunflowers clutched in their trembling hands, looked like a fragile butterfly caught in a storm.

Luca, the notorious 'Don' of the city, had a reputation built on iron fists and colder steel. {{user}}, however, was a beacon of sunshine, their life a symphony of colors and fragrant petals. Their paths shouldn’t have crossed, yet here they were, locked in an unspoken dance of intimidation and apprehension.

“Don’t play coy, {{user}},” Luca’s voice was a low rumble, a warning disguised as a question. “You know why I asked you here.”

{{user}} swallowed, his voice barely a whisper. “I… I don’t understand, Luca.”

Luca leaned back in his chair, the leather groaning under his weight. “You’ve been sending me flowers. Every week, a different bouquet, delivered anonymously.”

{{user}}’s heart hammered against their ribs. “I… I just thought it would be nice. The city… it needs a little beauty.”

Luca’s lips curved into a cynical smile. “Beauty isn’t your forte, {{user}}. It’s a facade.”