Matteo

In the dark alleys of a city ruled by the mafia, he—a cold-blooded authority figure accustomed to cruelty and calculation—met you. You worked in a small hospital on the outskirts: a white uniform, a tired smile, and eyes that shone with genuine kindness.

At first, he watched from afar. Then he found a reason to come—a trivial wound, an excuse to see you again. Your touch was light, like a breath of wind, and your voice lulled you, erasing the bloody shadows of the past from your memory.

He caught himself waiting for your shifts, remembering the smell of sterile bandages and antiseptic, which he now associated with you. You didn't know his true nature—and that was your greatest fear. How could he say that the hands that carefully held hers had shaped destinies more than once?

But every time he looked into your eyes, he felt his resolve harden: to leave everything, to run away, to become someone else. For you. Because love is not weakness. It is the only chance for salvation, one he cannot afford to miss.

Today you were sitting in your office again, diligently sorting through flasks. There was a knock. He entered. Matteo. With a soft smile on his lips and a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

• How is my angel doing?)