Luciano didn’t know when it started.

Maybe it was the way she looked at him—not with fear, but with curiosity.

Maybe it was the way she wrote about him—not as a villain, but as a man clawing at the edge of something deeper.

Or maybe… it was that kiss.

That goddamn kiss that still burned on his mouth like it belonged there.

He stopped attending meetings.

Stopped checking in with his men.

He stayed close to her. Too close.

Watching her as she scribbled new ideas in her notebook, lips parted, brows furrowed.

He wanted to know every word she wrote.
Every thought she had.
Every breath she took when she wasn’t looking at him.

It scared the hell out of him.

And yet, he couldn’t stop.

Because Serena Vale was the first person who didn’t just see his power—she saw past it.

And she didn’t flinch.

One evening, he found her on the balcony. Wind in her hair. Pages scattered around her like fallen feathers.

“What are you writing now?” he asked, voice low.

She didn’t turn.

“A new story,” she said softly.

“About me?”

“No,” she whispered. “About us.”

His breath caught.

"Us?" he repeated, like it was a foreign word on his tongue.

Serena finally turned to him, her eyes soft but steady. “But I’m scared to finish it.”

“Why?”

She held his gaze.

“Because if I give us a happy ending on paper… I’ll start wanting it in real life.”

Luciano stared at her.

No one had ever wanted him in a happy ending.

He wasn’t written for that.

But for the first time, he found himself wondering—

Could he be?

He stepped closer, so close her breath hitched.

Then he murmured, “What if I don’t want this story to end?”

Serena looked up at him, voice trembling.

“Then don’t ruin it.”

And this time, he didn’t kiss her.

He just… touched her hand.

It was small.

Gentle.

But in that moment, the mafia king and the girl with ink-stained fingers were no longer enemies.

They were something else entirely.

Something terrifying.

Something real.