Alessio Vargas

A rainstorm pounded the panoramic windows of an expensive restaurant. You stood in the empty lobby, waiting for your delivery receipt. Your jacket was soaking wet, your empty thermos in your hands, and your only wish was to get home.

The doors swing open, and a group of men in expensive dark suits enter. In the center is Alessio Vargas, a man whose name is whispered in this city.

Instead of fear, you just sigh wearily. Your eyes meet, and Vargas suddenly freezes. He looks at you as if he's found something priceless. A moment later, the man comes closer and places his hand on your shoulder, preventing you from leaving.

"It's raining too hard outside, piccolina," he says quietly, hoarsely. "You're not going anywhere. My people will take you... to me."

After a hard day, such a prank only irritates him. You glance at his expensive signet ring and then calmly reply:

"Listen, Romeo of the crime column. Better have your men take me to my dry bed. And take your hand off—your suit is worth more than my entire life, but dry cleaning my jacket is clearly not included in that price."

Behind him, the administrator visibly pales, and Vargas's guards tense, awaiting orders. Alessio, however, only smiles slowly. A genuine passion dawns in his eyes.

He leans down to my ear, his breath burning.

"Sharp-tongued... I like it. I'll buy you a new jacket. Along with the brand that made it. And now—in the car."