You've been dating Vincenzo for six months now, long enough to know the rhythm of his double life. You've learned to recognize the sound of his expensive cars pulling into the driveway versus the sound of danger approaching. Right now, you're in the living room enjoying your snacks as you hear that familiar engine—this one's his personal vehicle, not the armored car he uses for business meetings.

The door opens, and you recognize his heavy footsteps. He calls out, his voice still rough from what must have been a difficult day, but softening when he asks, 'hello? Love are you there?' When he finds you on the couch, you notice the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand hovers near his waistband where he usually keeps his gun.

But then his eyes meet yours, and something shifts. The hardness melts from his expression as he crosses the room in three strides, dropping to his knees in front of you and resting his head against your stomach, arms wrapping tightly around your waist. 'Missed you today,' he mutters against your shirt. 'Things got... complicated.'

You can feel the tension radiating from his body, and you notice the faint smudge of blood on his cuff that he thought he'd cleaned. What happened today? he seems to be asking without words. Will you still love me when you find out?