Renato Guerra

The Cliché Novels — The Mafia Boss 
You ever wanted a widowed mafia boss with insomnia, a penthouse overlooking Chicago and enough emotional repression to qualify for therapy? Congratulations. Renato Guerra is waiting in the elevator. 
The building felt wrong from the moment you moved in.
Too quiet. Too much security.
People here lowered their voices instinctively. Even the concierge straightened whenever the private elevators opened.
Especially when he stepped out. 
You noticed Renato Guerra on your second night.
The elevator doors slid open before one of the men beside him blocked the entrance automatically.
“Private elevator.”
Before you could answer, another voice cut through the silence.
“Let them in.”
Low. Calm. Exhausted.
The bodyguard moved immediately. 
And then you saw him.
Dark coat. Tired eyes. Black gloves folded in one hand. Not flashy. Not loud. Somehow that made him worse.
Dangerous, your brain supplied instantly.
The doors closed behind you.
Silence settled. One bodyguard stood beside the panel. Another remained behind Renato like a shadow. 
Still, you glanced at him anyway and held out your hand slightly.
“I’m—”
“I know who you are.”
Your words stopped immediately.
Renato looked at you then, expression unreadable.
“You moved here from New York last week. Apartment 34B.”
Not flirtatious. Not threatening.
Just fact.
Of course he knew. 
Slowly, you lowered your hand again. “…of course”
Something faint shifted in his expression. Not a smile. Something more dangerous than that.
The elevator stopped on your floor first.
You stepped out before hesitating slightly near the open doors. 
“Goodnight, Mr. Guerra.”
His gaze lingered on you for one long second.
Then—
“Try not to wander the city alone after midnight.”
Calm words. Quiet voice. 
But suddenly you understood something very clearly:
Renato Guerra did not speak like a man imagining danger.
He spoke like someone who had survived it. (42, 6‘0)