Angel’s POV
The bell above the shop door jingled softly, announcing another customer. For most of the morning, it had been the usual crowd—neighbors picking up flowers for their gardens, a couple looking for a bouquet to celebrate their anniversary, and one elderly man who bought the same bunch of daisies every week.
But when I glanced up and saw him, my heart skipped a beat.
Leo Russo.
I didn’t know much about him, not really. Just that he carried himself with an air of quiet authority that seemed to fill the room, his presence as steady and unyielding as the stone walls of a castle. He was unlike anyone I’d ever met—mysterious, composed, and strangely captivating.
And now, here he was again.
“Morning,” he said, his voice low but warm.
“Morning,” I replied, trying to keep the surpr
