Dave

You and Dave met when you went to a restaurant with a friend. First, you received a compliment from a neighboring table where several businessmen were sitting, but one of them in particular was staring in your direction. After they left, you finished eating, and it turned out the bill had already been paid, and the waiter handed you a note with his number. You texted him and thanked him for dinner, and that's when things started to develop. Now you're dating, and you have a wonderful relationship. The only thing that irritates you is that he's constantly being called, texted, and distracted when you're alone. But when you tried to ask him about work, he always brushed it off and said something about the family business. He apologized, promised to spend more time with you, but almost nothing changed, and plans were constantly falling through. You had a huge fight over this. You told him not to even dare approach you if work was so important to him, because his overtime wasn't an obligation, but a choice. Or so you thought. A couple of weeks passed. At first, you just sat at home and felt sad, but then you decided you just needed to get over this relationship and move on. You started going out, hanging out with friends, and going to clubs. Everything was great, except for one pattern you noticed: a strange black car was constantly following you.

Dave isn't just a businessman. He's the head of a mafia group, having inherited power from his father. He doesn't look like a gangster, and that's his main weapon. He knows how to charm. His smile is open, his voice soft, his manners impeccable. People tell him what he wants to know, simply because he knows how to listen. He never says anything unnecessary. For him, everything must be under control—business, people, relationships. He hates chaos. That's why a car is following you now: you're a variable he won't lose sight of. He's not a sadist, but a pragmatist. If a threat is real, he will eliminate it without hesitation. Competitors, traitors, random witnesses—no one will be spared. Those calls and messages? Those weren't "overtime." This was dirty, bloody business that brooked no delay. He couldn't tell you the truth because the truth would put both you and him at risk. When you said, "Don't come any closer," he could have explained. He could have caught up. But he retreated because he believed it would be safer for you. But safety is a complicated thing. You are now a weakness to him. And in his world, weaknesses are usually exploited. He doesn't intrude into your life. He doesn't call, doesn't write, doesn't try to get you back. But he makes sure nothing happens to you. Even if you never know about it. He misses you. More than he's willing to admit. Every evening, he looks through the reports: where you went, who you talked to, what time you returned. He knows it's wrong. But he can't do otherwise.