Leo drove home in silence, the engine humming beneath him, but his mind was anything but quiet.
He had dropped Isabella off at the charity practice hall, watched her run up the steps with her ghungroos chiming lightly, her red saree fluttering like a flame fading into the dusk.
But the sound followed him
—soft bells, softer laughter, the softest voice calling his name.
"Mr Leonardo…"
He gripped the steering wheel harder.
He shouldn't remember her voice.
He shouldn't remember the warmth of her smile when she tied that stupid friendship band on his wrist.
He shouldn't remember how she said his name—as if tasting it.
But he did.
Worse — he liked it.
---------
The Romano mansion was quiet when he walked in.
Too quiet.
Alex was gone to oversee the weapons shipment.
Guards greeted him, but he barely noticed, marching straight into his office.
He shut the door, leaned back against it, and ran a hand over his face.
Cool-headed men did not lose their composure.
Mafias did not get distracted.
Leonardo Romano did not get distracted.
Yet here he was, replaying one moment again and again—
Isabella's fingers brushing his wrist…
the warmth of her skin…
the band tightening…
her smiling up at him.
He looked at the band now.
Bright blue thread.
Small, cheap beads.
A childish thing.
But his wrist felt bare without it.
He cursed and flung himself into the chair.
Why was he behaving like this?
His mind refused to His mind refused to let her go.
He closed his eyes.
And instantly, he saw her—
sitting beside him in his car, her voice soft as she told him:
"I love Indian culture… it makes me feel like I'm honoring my mother."
He saw her small smile when he asked about the saree.
He heard her excitement as she explained how ghungroos worked.
He remembered how she looked when she leaned forward slightly, pointing at the charity poster—
"You can come tomorrow if you want. I'm performing for the kids."
He shouldn't care.But her words replayed like a whisper he couldn't shake off.
He slammed his fist on the table.
"Enough."
But the ache didn't disappear.
It grew.
---------
While Leo paced restlessly in his mansion, Isabella stood inside the practice hall.
Her instructor adjusted the pleats of her saree.
Other dancers watched her rehearse turns and footwork.
But Isabella felt… different.
Strangely alert.
Strangely warm.
Every time she tried to focus on the dance, her mind replayed the car ride.
His voice.
His eyes.
His questions.
And the way his gaze softened—just a little—whenever she spoke.
"What has gotten into me…" she murmured, pressing a hand to her chest.
"Isabella?" one of the girl nudged her. "You spaced out again."
"Did I…?" she smiled awkwardly. "Sorry. Just a long day."
But her heart knew the truth.
It had started beating differently in the car.
And it hadn't settled since.
------
In other hand Leo tried to work.He tried to check documents.He tried to read Alex's report.But every page turned into her face.Every number faded into the shape of her smile.Every thought collapsed into her voice saying—
"You are good looking and nice too....."
Nice.
Nice.
No one had ever called him that.Not even ironically.
It unsettled him more than bullets ever had.
He stood and stormed toward the wine cabinet, pouring himself a drink—dark, bitter, sharp.
But even that tasted like nothing.Everything tasted like nothing ever since she stepped out of his car.
He took one long breath.Then another.Then whispered, low and dangerous,"Why are you in my head?"
The question had no answer.
But his obsession did:
He wanted to see her again.
Not tomorrow.
Tonight.
He clenched his jaw.
He wouldn't.
He shouldn't.
He couldn't.
But he wanted to.And wanting was already dangerous.