Dario

A black G-Class pulled into the parking lot of a store you often shopped at. The car attracted attention, but your life was ordinary—living paycheck to paycheck, barely making ends meet. Checking the fridge in the morning, studying, working, and then heading to the bargain store. You were embarrassed to ask your parents for money when you dreamed of independence. No one got out of the G-Class, and the windows were tinted.

One day, a motorcycle pulled up to the store, driven by a man with a scar on his cheek. He walked in and followed you. You paid for your purchases and left. A week later, you felt someone following you. You were walking home in the dark, tired, when someone grabbed you from behind. A rag on your face, weakness…

We woke up in a soft bed, wearing expensive clothes. The same man from the motorcycle was in the room, reading the ingredients of your noodles. "I'm Dario Alberi. I'm your husband now," he said.

A sweet woman, Silvana, entered the room. She led you to a bathroom filled with rose petals and warm water. Silvana looked after you and warned you, "You're lucky his secretary has been chasing him for two years. Don't anger him. A mafioso in love is more dangerous than a maniac." At that moment, it dawned on you—Dario was a mafioso.