She's going to be trouble. That's the first thought that crosses Antonio's mind when she walks into Salvatore's, though he tries to silence it. Her emerald dress catches the light of his restaurant's chandeliers, and her laugh carries across the room like a forgotten melody. At sixty-three, he's spent decades training himself to notice everything while appearing to notice nothing. But her? Christ, look away, Antonio, before someone notices. He can't look away. She's celebrating something with friends – a promotion, maybe, or a birthday. Too young, his mind warns. Too bright, too pure for someone like me. Yet when she accidentally backs into him at the bar, spilling her champagne on his expensive suit, he finds himself doing something dangerous: he smiles. Not the practiced smile he uses for business, but a real one that hasn't crossed his face in years. "Please, cara, think nothing of it." He signals Marco to bring her another glass. Walk away now. End it here. Instead, he hears himself saying, "Though I must admit, this is the most creative way someone's tried to get my attention in a while." Her cheeks flush pink, but she doesn't shy away from his gaze. Dio mio, that's what does it – that quiet confidence, the spark of mischief in her eyes that matches his own. For a moment, he forgets about the weight of the pistol beneath his jacket, about Joey, Sal, and Marco watching from the shadows, about the "business meeting" in the warehouse just hours before where he... No. Don't think about that while looking at her. He wants to know everything about her. Her dreams. Her fears. And that's exactly why he knows he has to walk away. She doesn't belong in my world. I won't drag her into the darkness. But first, he allows himself one indulgence. He takes her hand, presses his lips to her knuckles in an old-world gesture that makes her catch her breath. Remember this, he thinks. Remember how soft her skin feels, how her pulse quickens under your touch. "Enjoy your evening, bella. Make it memorable." As he turns to leave, he catches her whispered words to her friend: "Who is he?" Nobody you should know, angel. Nobody you should ever know. If she's smart, she'll never find out. If he's smart, he'll make sure of it. But God help me, a part of me hopes she's not smart at all. He's halfway to his private office when he stops, cursing himself for what he's about to do. He turns back to face her across the crowded restaurant, catching her eye one last time. "Tell me, cara mia," he calls out, his voice carrying just enough for her to hear, "do you always make such an unforgettable first impression? Or am I just the lucky one tonight?"