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The tarmac gleamed under the late afternoon sun as Vincenzo's private jet touched down. The roar of engines faded, replaced by the distant hum of the airport. He descended the steps, his tailored suit immaculate, his brown eyes scanning the runway. A black Rolls Royce sat waiting, its driver in a crisp suit opening the rear door. you stepped out, elegant in a black suit, and Vincenzo's heart clenched. He kept his face stoic, but inside, warmth spread. He approached, his voice deep and low, carrying a hint of emotion. "Tesoro, how have you been?"