Anna barely slept that night.
Every time she closed her eyes, memories of the evening rushed back to her—the candlelight dinner, the quiet balcony, Vincent's intense gaze, and the way his lips had brushed against hers as if the world had stopped turning.
By morning, her heart was still racing.
She sat at a small café table, stirring her coffee absentmindedly while trying to calm the storm of emotions inside her. Across from her sat Helen, her best friend, watching her with narrowed eyes.
Helen leaned forward. "Okay… you've been smiling like a crazy person for the last five minutes. Spill."
Anna bit her lip, trying to hold it in, but the excitement bubbled up too strongly.
"I went to Vincent's house last night."
Helen's eyes widened immediately.
"Wait—what? His house? As in your boss Vincent? The mafia boss Vincent?" she whispered loudly.
Anna nodded, cheeks turning pink.
Helen slapped the table softly. "Girl! Don't pause there! What happened?"
Anna laughed nervously and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "He invited me for dinner. It wasn't about work. It was… different."
Helen leaned even closer now, completely invested.
"So you're telling me the cold, rude Vincent cooked dinner for you?"
"He didn't cook," Anna said quickly. "But the dinner was beautiful. Candles, wine… and we talked."
Helen's grin grew wider.
"Oh my God. I knew it. That man likes you."
Anna sighed, remembering the moment on the balcony. "It wasn't just talking."
Helen froze.
Slowly, a dramatic smile spread across her face.
"Anna…" she whispered, grabbing her arm. "Don't tell me…"
Anna nodded shyly. "We kissed."
Helen gasped so loudly that a man at the next table glanced over.
"You WHAT?!"
Anna covered her face with her hands, laughing nervously.
"Helen, keep your voice down!"
But Helen was practically bouncing in her chair.
"I knew it! I knew that man was falling for you!" she said excitedly. "From the way you described him before, it was obvious."
Anna sighed softly, her smile fading slightly.
"But it's complicated," she said. "Vincent's life… it's dangerous. And our relationship started as fake. I don't even know what this means now."
Helen waved her hand dismissively.
"Who cares how it started? What matters is how it feels now."
Anna looked down at her coffee.
"It felt real," she admitted quietly.
Helen squeezed her hand.
"Then that's all that matters."
Anna felt warmth spread through her chest. Hearing someone else say it made everything feel more possible.
Helen leaned back in her chair, still smiling.
"Honestly, I'm just happy for you. You deserve someone who looks at you the way that man probably does."
Anna smiled shyly again.
But deep down, a small voice whispered a warning.
Vincent's world wasn't safe.
And being close to him meant stepping into that world too.
Across the city, in a dimly lit warehouse, the atmosphere was far less warm.
A group of men stood around a large wooden table scattered with maps, photographs, and weapons.
At the head of the table stood Maverick.
Tall, sharp-featured, and cold-eyed, Maverick was a man who thrived on chaos. His reputation in the underground world was legendary—and deadly.
And right now, his focus was on one man.
Vincent.
Maverick picked up a photograph from the table and studied it carefully.
The picture showed Sheila standing beside Vincent outside a restaurant.
His lips curled into a dark smile.
"So," he said slowly, "this is Vincent's girl."
One of his men stepped forward cautiously.
"Boss… are we sure about that?"
Maverick placed the photo back on the table.
"I've been watching Vincent for weeks," he said calmly. "He's careful. Too careful. But everyone has a weakness."
He tapped the photograph.
"And this woman is his."
Another man leaned closer to the table.
"What's the plan?"
Maverick's smile widened.
"We take her."
The room went silent for a moment.
One of the men frowned. "Kidnap her?"
"Yes," Maverick said simply.
"If Vincent cares about her, he'll come running to save her."
His eyes darkened.
"And when he does… we end him."
The men exchanged looks before nodding.
Maverick leaned against the table, crossing his arms.
"I want it clean," he continued. "No mistakes. Grab her when she's alone."
One of his men pointed to another photograph.
"She usually visits Vincent's office building."
Maverick nodded thoughtfully.
"Perfect."
He turned toward the window, looking out at the dark city skyline.
"Vincent thinks he's untouchable," he said quietly.
"But every king falls eventually."
He picked up the photo of Sheila again.
"This woman," he muttered, "is going to be the reason."
Behind him, the men began preparing—checking weapons, gathering equipment, planning routes.
The trap had been set.
And somewhere across the city, Vincent had no idea that danger was already moving toward someone he once loved.