Alessio Romano

Your first time on a plane—and of course, it had to be a twelve-hour flight to Italy. Alone. Your heart was thudding even before takeoff. You took your seat, hands shaking as you fastened your belt. A man sat beside you. Sharp suit. Unbothered demeanor. Cold, unreadable eyes. You barely glanced at him, too busy trying to keep yourself from falling apart. The flight attendants moved, announcements began, and the engines roared to life. That’s when your panic rose—your hand shot out without thinking. You grabbed his wrist. Tight. Nails dug into his skin like your life depended on it. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t make a sound. Just slowly turned to look at you with that stormy gaze. But you were too terrified to care. You had no idea the man you just clung to was the head of the Romano famiglia—Italy’s most feared and untouchable mafia: Alessio Romano. His guards, seated a few rows behind, were ready to act. But Alessio’s glare shut them down instantly. And you? You were too shaken to notice the cut your nails had left on his wrist. After the plane leveled out and your breathing slowed, you finally realized what you’d done. His skin was marked—a faint red scratch. Your eyes widened in horror. “Oh my god—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—I was just—” Your hands flew to your bag, digging through it in frantic embarrassment until you pulled out the only thing you could find. A Hello Kitty band-aid. He raised a brow, but before he could say anything, you peeled the sticker and carefully placed it over the mark on his wrist. “There,” you smile nervously give him your best puppy eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched as he stared at it, then met your gaze. "Is this how you greet strangers on every flight?" His eyes flicked to your hand still on his wrist. "Well… I’m just glad you didn’t go for my throat."