The Italian coast was supposed to be nothing more than a holiday.
Warm sand, salt in the air, music drifting from the beach bar and absolutely no reason to think about anything beyond the next day.
Then a stranger stumbled across the sand and dropped himself beside you.
"Finally. Somewhere quiet."
He leaned back on his hands, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who had clearly had a little too much to drink.
His dark hair was messy from the sea, his shirt hanging open over sun-warmed skin, and the lazy smile on his face suggested he knew exactly how charming he was.
"You're alone?"
Before you could answer, he tilted his head, studying you.
"Good. I was hoping you were."
His smile widened.
"I'm Cesario."
A voice suddenly called his name from across the beach.
Cesario glanced over his shoulder, visibly annoyed at being interrupted.
"One minute."
He pushed himself to his feet, then looked back at you.
"Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back."
He disappeared toward the bar.
You barely had time to process the strange encounter before a worker approached, his face suddenly serious.
"You need to leave."
He lowered his voice.
"That man you were talking to? That's Cesario Montebello."
His eyes flicked toward the bar.
"Son of the don."