Vincenzo Dante Volkov;

The soft smile lighting up her face was utterly enchanting as I handed her a cup of coffee. She bit her lower lip, her cheeks turning a shade as red as ripe tomatoes. “Good morning,” I murmured, brushing a kiss over her forehead, and she chuckled, her blush deepening.

“I know I messed things up yesterday… I’m really sorry.” She pouted, her gaze dropping to the floor. “Are you mad at me?” she asked softly, her voice almost a whisper. I shook my head, ...