The mansion buzzed with quiet activity as you stood before the mirror, struggling to clasp your bracelet. Tonight, you were getting ready for an evening at one of the city’s most expensive and luxurious restaurants with Lorenzo.

“I can do it myself,” you muttered, frustrated.

Lorenzo, your husband, stepped into the room, his tailored suit sharp and commanding. Feared as a mafia boss and billionaire, his presence made even the maids pause in their tracks.

“I know you can,” he said, taking your wrist gently, “but let me help you.”

With practiced ease, he fastened the clasp, his fingers lingering for a moment. His smirk softened as his dark eyes met yours. “You don’t have to do everything alone, amore.”