The fourth night, Sofia didn't even pretend to be calm.
She wiped the same spot on the bar three times. She'd tied and untied her apron twice already. Giulia, watching her from the kitchen doorway, leaned against the frame with a knowing smirk.
"You're nervous."
"I'm not."
"Mmhm. And I'm the Queen of Spain."
Sofia shot her a glare, but Giulia just laughed. "He's coming, isn't he?"
"He might not."
"He will," Giulia said confidently. "Guys like that? They don't play games unless they're planning to win."
Sofia wasn't sure what Alexandro Vitale wanted to win.
The memory of his gaze last night—piercing, knowing, almost like he was studying the soul behind her skin—still sat heavy in her chest. He hadn't threatened her, not with words. But his presence was a threat by itself. Heavy, commanding, like the quiet before a storm.
And yet… part of her wanted him to come back.
Part of her wanted to see those eyes again.
---
At exactly 10:32 PM, the bell above the door rang.
He entered like he belonged to the night—his coat tailored, black as sin, his shoulders broad and posture perfectly controlled. This time, no men followed him in. He was alone. The king, without his guards. But still very much a king.
Their eyes met the moment the door shut behind him.
She didn't speak.
Neither did he.
He walked to his usual seat in the corner. Sat. Waited.
Sofia moved before she even realized her legs were carrying her forward.
No espresso yet. No small talk.
She just sat down across from him, fingers interlocked on the table. She could hear her own heartbeat. That was new.
"You left a card last night," she said.
"I did."
"With no name."
He raised an eyebrow. "You needed one?"
"No."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Then why mention it?"
She blinked.
Was he testing her? Was this how men like him played—peeling people apart one sentence at a time?
"I don't know what I'm doing," she admitted. "With you. Talking to you."
He looked at her for a long beat. Then he nodded, as if that answer satisfied him more than anything else.
"Good," he said. "I'd worry if you did."
---
Silence hung between them again—but it wasn't awkward. It was thick, charged. As if both of them were waiting for the other to say something they couldn't take back.
Sofia stood and returned with his espresso, setting it in front of him like a ritual. He wrapped his hand around the cup—long, elegant fingers, a silver ring on his pinky engraved with a lion's head.
"Why here?" she asked suddenly.
He glanced up.
"Why this bar?" she continued. "Why me?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked past her, toward the window where the city glowed dimly behind the glass. The Colosseum's curve reflected in the distance, lit by spotlights.
"Because this place," he said slowly, "is the only place in Rome where people aren't pretending to be something they're not."
Then his gaze returned to her. Steady. Warm, but edged with steel.
"And you," he added, "don't flinch."
Sofia swallowed.
"I probably should," she murmured.
"Probably."
"But I don't."
"No. You don't."
---
He took a sip of espresso. His lips brushed the porcelain like a kiss. It was a stupid thought, but it bloomed in her mind anyway.
"So what happens now?" she asked, folding her hands in her lap.
He set the cup down. "That depends on you."
"Me?"
Alexandro nodded. "I never force anything. Not with women. Not with… things I want."
The pause after "women" felt deliberate.
"You want something from me?"
His gaze burned. "I don't play games, Sofia."
"And yet, here we are."
That made the corner of his mouth twitch. Almost a smile.
He stood slowly, and for a terrifying second she thought he was leaving. But instead, he held out his hand.
"Walk with me."
---
Sofia hesitated, glancing toward the back where Giulia was likely eavesdropping behind the swinging kitchen door. This was crazy. This was dangerous. This was absolutely the kind of thing you warned your future self not to do.
But she slipped her hand into his anyway.
His palm was warm. Firm. He didn't grip her tight—he didn't have to.
---
They walked out into the Roman night. The city felt different with him beside her—more alive. More dangerous. The wind tugged gently at her hair as they passed under golden streetlamps, the sky above scattered with stars and a perfect silver crescent moon.
He didn't speak, and neither did she.
When they reached the Ponte Sisto, the ancient pedestrian bridge overlooking the Tiber River, Alexandro finally stopped. He leaned on the stone railing, looking out over the water, the reflection of lights dancing like fireflies below.
"You asked why I came here," he said, voice low.
Sofia nodded.
"I used to live two blocks from here. With my mother and my little brother."
She blinked. A personal detail. He hadn't given her one of those yet.
"Your brother?"
"He died."
The words landed like stones. Heavy, final.
"I'm sorry," she said, quietly.
Alexandro's jaw tensed. "He was ten."
She didn't know what to say. So she said nothing.
His gaze remained fixed on the river. "The men who killed him never saw justice. The police were bought. The courts were blind."
"So you took justice yourself," Sofia said softly.
He finally looked at her.
"No," he said. "I built a world where I am the justice."
A pause.
"Is that who you are?" she asked. "A man who kills for justice?"
"I'm a man who kills," he answered. "And I don't pretend to be anything else."
---
Sofia stepped beside him, close enough to feel the heat of his presence. The wind danced around them. Far below, the river rolled on, uncaring.
"I don't know what you want from me, Alexandro."
He looked down at their hands—still connected.
"I don't know yet either," he said honestly. "But I haven't stopped thinking about you. Since the moment I saw you."
She could feel his breath now. Her heart pounded. The stars above seemed to hold their breath.
"I should run," she whispered.
"You should."
"I should scream."
"You should."
She turned to face him fully. "But I won't."
"I know."
Then, slowly—deliberately—he raised her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Not rushed. Not possessive. Reverent.
"Do you believe in fate, Sofia?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I believe in mistakes."
Alexandro smiled.
"Then let me be your favorite one."