The Man in the Suit
My name is Isabella Romano.
Twenty. Stubborn. Curious. Always pushing boundaries, even when I shouldn't.
I grew up in a modest home on the outskirts of Venice. My father, Carlo Romano, used to be a lawyer, but after a failed investment and the closure of a small firm he co-owned, he now manages the family's modest finances. My mother, Sofia, runs their little shop, selling homemade pasta, sauces, and pastries. She works tirelessly while loving us fiercely.
I have an older brother, Luca, twenty-one. Clever, fearless, and way taller than me, he's protective in ways I sometimes forget to appreciate.
I'm a scholarship student studying art history.
I had heard from my coursemates that BTS would be performing at Stadio Pier Luigi Penzo, and as a die-hard ARMY, I couldn't resist the idea of seeing them—even from afar. Excitement bubbling in my chest, I walked around the streets of Vince, thinking that I'd be lucky enough to spot the venue. But the streets were unfamiliar, twisting, and dark, and before I knew it, I had wandered into an alley I didn't recognize.
I was lost in my thoughts when a voice cut through the night, deep and commanding.
"Guarda me, bambina." (Look at me, little one.)
My head jerked up. Ice-blue eyes. Broad shoulders. Antonio Moretti. Not a stranger. Not just any man. The young Italian CEO whose empire spanned countries, feared and admired alike. Standing there, watching me, something darker than any article could capture.
"What are you doing out here?" His voice was low, yet cutting.
"None of your damn business," I snapped, trying to mask my fear with defiance.
He smirked, the corner of his lips twitching. "Just as expected."
"Just as expected?" I echoed, raising an eyebrow.
"That you'd be stubborn," he said. "All you have to do now is go home." He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. Speaking in Italian, he said, "Vieni, portala a casa." (Come, take her home.) and ended the call.
"Do you know me from somewhere?" I asked cautiously.
"That's a question for another day," he replied, eyes never leaving mine.
Almost immediately, a man dressed in black appeared, bowing his head respectfully. "Follow me," he said, and guided me to a sleek black car. Antonio remained in the shadows, watching, but did not move.
When we got home, I thanked the man in black and came out of the car.
The house was dark. I tried to sneak into my room without anyone noticing, tiptoeing carefully. Unfortunately, I bumped into a hard chest.
I needed no suit-sayer to tell me that it was my stupid brother.
The lights came on, and boom—I realized I had been fooling myself all along. They had been in the sitting room the whole time.
"Where are you coming from?" my mother asked.
"I just went out for some air," I replied.
"Air, you say??? Do you know what time it is, miss?? You went out for fresh air… and what does it have to do with the car that brought you home?"
"Mom, please don't take this thing too personal. He's just a good Samaritan who decided to help since it's late," I said.
"A he?? Isabella, you drove with a he at this time of night??" Then she turned to my father. "Why aren't you saying anything, darling?"
I smiled inwardly. Well, I am a daddy's girl, so he won't say anything. But I was surprised that Luca was quiet—he always loved nagging like my mom. I raised my head to look at him.
He was looking so pissed. Don't tell me he's this angry because of me.
"Well, since nobody is saying anything… can I go to my room?" I asked cautiously.
"Well, we have a lot of things to say. You're getting married next month," my mom said.
"W-What?!" I asked, my voice trembling.
"Mom, I told you to cut that shit off!" Luca snapped, glaring at her.