Every year, the city celebrated love. Every year, he buried it.

Valentine's Eve. The night the world dressed itself in red and roses and pretended love was something safe.

He hated this night more than any other.

The most feared mafia boss in the city sat alone in a private booth, surrounded by men who knew better than to speak — whiskey untouched, jaw tight, eyes somewhere no one else could follow.

He wasn't angry. He wasn't dangerous tonight.

He was just broken. Quietly, invisibly, completely broken — the way only a man who once loved deeply can be.

Then the door opened.

She walked in like she didn't know where she was. Lost, maybe. Or maybe exactly where she was supposed to be. Her dress was the wrong shade of red for a place like this. Her eyes were too honest for a  ...