Don

1

MELANIE WOKE UP knee deep in s**t.

Metaphorical s**t, but s**t nonetheless.

Beside her was a male. This particular male could in no way be referenced to feces.

He was hot. 

Feces was lukewarm- at best.

The problem in this seemingly shitless situation?

Said male was Pietro Russo.

PIETRO GROANED, both at the sun's audacity to shine so brilliantly on his handsome hungover face and at the prospect of the awaited clingy one-night-stand.

Shifting to tell the woman thanks-for-the-ride-but-leave, he found the bed quizzically empty.

Must be the breakfast making wife-me type, he thought with a cringe.

Way worse.

Padding downstairs, he was met with silence.

It was empty. The house was empty.

Well, save for a rushed note on the table by the door.

Had a nice time. Thanks for the ride.

That's it. Not a name. Not a number.

Did he mention not even a name?

"Huh." He blanched.

Well... That'd certainly never happened before.

Pietro Russo, Italian King of One-Night-Stands. Ruler-of-Hit-and-Quit-its found himself-one-upped.

Somewhere out there was a woman who managed to turn him into a one night stand.

And damn if he wasn't gonna find her.