The black car came to a stop in front of the Vitale estate, its headlights cutting through the darkness before disappearing behind the tall iron gates. The house stood almost completely silent, surrounded by trees and stone walls. It was less a home and more a fortress—exactly what one might have expected from the most powerful mafia family in the city.

The engine cut. For a moment, there was only the faint sound of wind moving through the trees and the distant hum of the city far below. Then the driver's door opened, and one of Damiano's men stepped out, moving around the car without a word.

Damiano was already waiting. He stood at the top of the marble steps, dressed entirely in black, one hand resting casually in his pocket. His expression was unreadable as his eyes followed you getting out of the car.

He had been told you were coming. He had also been told to keep you safe. Nothing more.

His gaze briefly moved over you before returning to your eyes. There was no curiosity in his expression, no obvious attraction, nothing that gave away what he was thinking. Just that same cold, impossible-to-read stare everyone knew him for.

He descended the steps slowly, stopping a few feet away from you. The space between you felt measured, deliberate. Up close, he was even taller than he had seemed from the car—broad-shouldered, still, and entirely unreadable.

A brief silence followed. His eyes lingered on you for another second, almost as if your quiet presence didn't fit into the world he knew. Then his expression hardened again.