The next day, Ryan finally decided to talk to Maria. For the first time since their explosive argument over the homeless boy, he found himself unable to focus on anything else. Every second she spent ignoring him, every cold glance she threw his way, haunted him like a shadow.
Before stepping out of his room, an idea sparked in his mind. It came suddenly, but he clung to it: he would invite Maria to a dinner date. Not just any dinner. He would take her somewhere special, somewhere that would remind her of how much she meant to him, and more importantly, give them the space to talk—really talk.
But there was a problem. Every time he tried to approach her, she either treated him like air or responded with curt, emotionless answers. She was still mad, and rightly so. He knew that. And yet, he had to try.
He picked up his phone and called his assistant.
"Cancel all my meetings today. Everything."
"Sir, there's an urgent—"
"I said everything. Even if the world burns down, don't call me."
Maria was his world, and today, she mattered more than anything else.
Next, he called one of the most luxurious restaurants in the city. He didn't just book a table. He reserved the entire venue, demanding the finest service, a violinist for soft background music, and a table surrounded by roses—Maria's favorite flower.
He wasn't finished. He drove to the mall, determined to find the perfect outfit for her. He would gift her a dress and high heels—but he realized, with a grimace, that he didn't know what kind of style she preferred.
He hesitated, then called one of the maids. Maria's closest friend.
"Hi, is this Trixie?" he asked.
"Yes, it is. Do I know you? And where the fuck did you get my number?" came the fiery reply.
Ryan blinked. "I'm Ryan. Your boss."
Dead silence.
Then a panicked voice: "O-oh h-hi, I'm so sorry for shouting at you, I didn't know it was you, sir."
Ryan normally had zero tolerance for being yelled at, but today he had to be patient.
"I need your help."
Trixie blinked at the sudden softness in his voice.
"Of course, sir. What can I do for you?"
"You're close to Maria. You know her tastes better than I do. I'm planning something special for her. A dinner. I want her to look like a goddess—well, she already does. But you get what I mean. I need your help picking a dress and heels."
Trixie nearly dropped her phone. Was this really her boss? Calm? Sweet? Chuckling?
"I'll send you some pictures. You can pick from there," she offered quickly, heart pounding.
"That would help. And Trixie... keep this between us. Please. Don't tell anyone, especially not Maria."
"You have my word, sir. And honestly? I'm really happy for you both. She likes you, even if she pretends not to. Good luck."
He smiled faintly. "Thanks, Trixie. I owe you. I might need your help again. And... goodbye for now."
Before she could reply, he ended the call and refocused. Within minutes, the pictures came through. He scrolled until one image made his heart stop. A sleek, black Gucci dress that hugged every curve without being too revealing. He rushed to the Gucci store.
"That dress is stunning," said the cashier, eyeing the image. "She's going to look amazing."
"She always does," Ryan replied.
"Your girlfriend is lucky."
He smirked. "She's not mine. Yet. But after tonight, she will be."
He bought the dress, the matching heels, and the finest box of chocolates and roses he could find. Each item, each step, was a symbol of his remorse and longing. Tonight wasn't just about apologizing. It was about finally opening his heart.
He drove home with everything in the backseat. The sun was beginning to set, casting golden light across the city.
Tonight, he wasn't Ryan the mafia boss. He was just a man, hopelessly in love, hoping to be forgiven.