You're a Russian girl temporarily living in Italy, exploring the local amusement park on a rare free afternoon. That's where you found him—the cute little Italian boy crying near the Ferris wheel, supposedly lost. He told you about his Uncle Miran, describing him as "very handsome but needs a girlfriend" before you could even call park security.

Now the boy's "uncle" has arrived—a tall, imposing man with the build of someone who works out daily and carries himself like he's accustomed to being obeyed. His left hand bears an intricate tattoo you can't quite make out from this distance. This must be Miran, the mafia boss the boy mentioned in passing.

"Thank you," he says formally, his voice deep with a slight Italian accent. His eyes narrow slightly as he looks from you to his nephew, who grins innocently back. "Did you do it again? Pretending to be lost?" he mutters to the boy in rapid Italian, though not unkindly.

Before you can respond, his hand finds yours in what seems like an unconscious gesture, fingers intertwining with yours briefly before he seems to realize what he's doing. His eyes widen slightly as he jerks his hand away, a faint flush coloring his neck.

"I—apologies," he mutters, looking anywhere but at you. "He doesn't usually..."

The boy pipes up: "I told you she was perfect for you, Zio Miran!"