Matteo stretched his neck with a subtle crack as he approached the door, his fingers flicking his left wrist to bring his watch into view and check the time. The bouquet of wildflowers cradled in his arm rustled softly against the brown parchment wrapping, which crinkled under his grip. His stomach tightened with nerves, and as he raised his fist to knock, he couldn’t help but scoff quietly at himself for feeling so jittery.

While waiting for Genevieve to answer, he adjusted his slim black tie, his mind replaying the struggle he’d faced choosing his outfit. After much deliberation, he’d opted for a classic black suit paired with a crisp white button-down shirt — notably different from the one he’d worn earlier that day when he’d seen her off. Running a hand through his hair to smooth it down, he heard the sound of multiple locks turning on the other side of the door.

When Genevieve finally appeared, a shy smile lighting her face, Matteo’s hand dropped slowly from his head as he took in her stunning appearance. The deep burgundy silk dress she’d chosen clung to her like it was crafted just for her, the fabric flowing effortlessly over her skin as if the designer had found inspiration in her very essence. Her dark hair cascaded in soft waves over one shoulder, and the flush on her cheeks deepened to the shade he adored most. Her eyes fluttered downward, a hint of embarrassment coloring her expression as he stood rooted before her.

“Matteo…” she murmured softly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

He cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how close he’d been to losing his composure, and extended the flowers toward her. Her gaze dropped to the bouquet, and her hesitant smile blossomed into one filled with pure delight. She gently traced the pastel petals—lavender, cream, and peach—with her fingers.

“I love them,” Genevieve whispered, turning back inside to find a vase. “How did you know these were my favorites?”

Matteo stepped inside behind her, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Jada,” he said simply.

Her face brightened at the mention of her sister. “You talked to Jada about tonight?”

He nodded, carefully watching every flicker of emotion in her face. “After I apologized for how I handled your kidnapping.”

Wrapping a shawl around her shoulders as she approached him again, Genevieve stopped in front of him, biting her lip while her bright eyes seemed to see right through him. “Flowers and a gesture. I’m already impressed, Mr. Accardi,” she teased.

Leaning closer, his voice dropped to a whisper. “Now that she’s on our side, I’m afraid you don’t stand a chance.”

His fingers brushed lightly over her bare arm, and he bent down, his intent clear—to taste her lips.

Her palm pressed firmly against his chest, halting his advance. He looked down at her hand, then back up to her amused expression.

“Have you never been on a first date before, Matteo?” she asked with a playful smirk.

“No,” he admitted, perhaps a bit too quickly.

She laughed softly. “You don’t kiss the girl when you pick her up. You have to wait until the end of the night.”

Matteo chuckled darkly, stepping an inch closer. “I was inside you an hour ago, Weakness. A kiss now would be the most innocent thing I’ve done to you in the last twenty-four hours.”

The flush on her cheeks deepened at his words. “Nevertheless,” she breathed shakily, “we should do this right. Shouldn’t we?”

He groaned as she reached up to straighten his tie. “Fine,” he growled, “but I’m getting that kiss.”

Genevieve giggled. “You’ll have to earn it, Sir.”

As she passed him toward the door, he gave her a playful spank, prompting a surprised yelp. “Burlona.”

Arm in arm, Matteo and Genevieve descended the stairs. Once outside, she scanned the street for his car.

“No car tonight. We’re walking,” he said, motioning toward the sidewalk.

She narrowed her eyes. “You could’ve warned me. I’m wearing heels.”

Glancing down at the black heels adorning her feet, he leaned back to admire her long legs. With a low sound of approval, he shook his head. “I’ll carry you home. It’s essential for my plan to get into your bed,” he explained with a smirk.

Her lips curved into a smile as she slid her hand back onto his arm. “Well,” she whispered, running her fingers over his lapels, “I wouldn’t want to ruin a well-laid plan.”

Matteo lifted her chin gently, knowing that resisting the urge to kiss her would be far harder than she imagined. They walked in companionable silence, Genevieve’s eyes wandering as if she were exploring this part of town for the first time. They passed bustling restaurants, cozy coffee shops, a small park dotted with benches, and elegant boutiques displaying fine clothes. Finally, they reached their destination: a quaint French restaurant Matteo had discovered during his research—perfect for a first date.

The hostess led them to their reserved table, and Genevieve shot a glare at the brunette who tried to catch Matteo’s attention. As her sharp gaze followed the hostess back to the front, Matteo reached across the table and took her hand. Her eyes flicked back to him as he brought her knuckles to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss.

“I haven’t told you how beautiful you look tonight,” he whispered.

She looked down, nervously fidgeting with her silverware. “You look beautiful yourself.” She glanced around the softly lit room. “This place is… dreamy.”

Matteo’s focus never wavered from her face, captivated by how the candlelight flickered across her features, casting a warm golden glow. When the waiter arrived, they placed their drink orders. Leaning forward, resting her head in her hands, Genevieve listened as Matteo asked question after question about her childhood. He adored the way her face lit up when she spoke of her mother and their home in Georgia. Even more, he treasured how her eyes sharpened and she nodded eagerly, asking thoughtful questions when he shared memories from his own youth. He’d never before opened up about his life before becoming “Accardi.”

She wasn’t interested in grand details like schools or travels. Instead, she wanted to know his favorite outdoor game as a child, his most cherished Christmas memory, the first time he stood up for his little brother. It dawned on him that there was no reason to feel nervous—they’d done this before, and it was exactly why he’d fallen for her so quickly: without effort, she knew how to remind him of life’s simple joys.

He felt a strange gratitude toward the men who had come before him. It was almost too easy to make her eyes sparkle. Small gestures—kissing the back of her hand, offering her the last of his oysters, politely correcting the waiter who brought the wrong side dish—things any man should know how to do—felt heroic in her presence. By the end of the meal, the wine had painted her cheeks with a rosy glow, and her eyes twinkled with pleasure.

Her fingertips traced the rim of her wine glass as Matteo, ignoring her protests, ordered a chocolate soufflé for dessert. She propped her head up with her other hand, watching him from across the table over her glass.

“I thought you were going to take me to Carmela’s,” she said, her voice low and sultry with the buzz of alcohol.

He leaned forward. “I thought about it, but I decided I wanted to enjoy our night together.”

“Instead of…?”

He sighed. “Instead of being on edge, constantly watching for threats or having Frankie along for backup.”

She scrunched her nose. “Good choice. Bringing another man on a first date wouldn’t exactly set the right tone. So why would you have wanted to take me there in the first place?”

“It’s… a kind of declaration,” he said carefully, watching her reaction. She narrowed her eyes.

“Of what?”

“My intentions.”

“I do love riddles,” she said with a roll of her eyes, sipping her wine.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, saw it was Frankie, and ignored the call. “Sorry, it…” He shook his head, deciding honesty was the best path. She’d agreed to stay; he couldn’t keep worrying about scaring her off. Setting his glass down, he leaned over the table. “People in the Italian community—the higher-ups—often frequent Carmela’s. Even if they’re not there themselves, they send representatives.”

Genevieve looked down at her glass thoughtfully. “And I imagine a powerful Don showing up with a woman on his arm causes quite a stir,” she guessed.

“It means he intends to make her his wife. That if she’s hurt, she’ll be defended by the three families and every resource they command.”

“The three families,” she repeated, nodding as if she understood fully. He tried to ignore the fact that she didn’t comment on the ‘make her his wife’ part.

He smiled and nodded at the waiter as the chocolate soufflé was placed between them. Matteo lifted a spoon, waiting for her to take the first bite before he did the same.

“I am Don to one of three major Italian families. We were all Palladinos—one of the largest crime syndicates in southern Italy. When triplets were born, their father had to decide who would take over the Italian business and inherit millions.” He shrugged. “The other two weren’t happy, obviously. They rebelled, taking a large chunk of the Italian business across the Atlantic to New York. They fought until they divided territories. To distance themselves from their Italian roots, one changed their name to Galante, the other to Accardi.”

“And they all lived happily ever after?” she asked, captivated by his story.

His phone buzzed again, and he ignored it without looking. “I have a feeling the best is yet to come,” he said softly, making her smile widen.

“Excuse me, Sir,” the waiter interrupted, looking uncomfortable.

Matteo sighed, and Genevieve snickered at his sudden scowl. “What?”

“You have a call from a gentleman who says it’s urgent,” the waiter whispered.

“Are you going to give me a name, or do I need to play Clue to find out?” Matteo asked, clearly annoyed. Genevieve covered her mouth to stifle her laughter.

“He says his name is Frank…” The waiter cleared his throat. “Frank—get him the fuck on the phone.”

A harsh laugh escaped Genevieve behind her hand. She turned away as Matteo fought a smile at her reaction. “I’ll call him.”

“Thank you, Sir,” the waiter said, hurrying away in embarrassment.

Matteo pulled out his phone, rolling his eyes at the nine missed calls. “Sorry, I have to take this real quick.”

“That’s fine,” she said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes as she stood. “I need to freshen up anyway. Go ahead.”

Matteo put the phone to his ear, watching her glide through the restaurant, smiling warmly at the people she passed. He loved the way her presence lit up the room.

“Yo.”

“Why are you calling me? You know where I am,” Matteo growled.

“Hello to you too,” Frankie mocked. “Something’s happening at the club. I need you here.”

“What could be so important that you can’t handle it yourself…”

“It’s Guerra,” Frankie interrupted.

“Fuck,” Matteo muttered, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. “What does he want?”

“A meeting. Says he has important, valuable information for you. Says it’s tonight or never.”

“Of course he does.” Matteo sighed and looked up as Genevieve returned to the table, offering him the same smile he’d been admiring moments before. “You know where I am,” he repeated.

Frankie groaned. “I thought you said she was in it?”

“This is different than…”

“How? How is this going to be any different from how she spends every other night with you?”

Genevieve sat down across from him, her brow furrowed with concern as she studied his expression.

“Okay. Fifteen minutes.”

Matteo hung up, his eyes never leaving hers as he slipped his phone back into his jacket pocket. She pouted slightly. “Night’s over?”

“Not necessarily…” Matteo began, already thinking about how badly he wanted that kiss to end the evening.