I accepted myself as Alfio Russo.
But…
I would never accept his fucking fate.
So, I sat on the couch.
Well… technically I was lounging on the world's most uncomfortable, lumpy excuse of a couch, sinking deeper into its saggy embrace like a tragic hero preparing for his untimely death.
But this wasn't a time for theatrics.
No.
This was a time for strategy.
"Alright…" I muttered, rubbing my temples, eyes narrowed like I was about to crack the Da Vinci Code. "If I want to survive this mess, I need a plan."
A foolproof, plot-breaking, fate-defying plan.
Step one?
Avoid Riccardo Costa and Salvatore Mancini at all costs.
"Easy," I nodded, feeling proud of my so-called brilliance. "Just stay away from the cop and the mafia prince. Simple."
But…
Where the hell was the novel even running now?
Okay, first things first—recall the story.
The plot was pretty simple.
Riccardo Costa was a cop. A successful one. He'd solved countless cases, brought down dangerous criminals, and was basically the golden boy of law enforcement.
In short?
A damn genius.
But even geniuses had their regrets. Riccardo's greatest failure?
Salvatore Mancini.
A brutal mafia boss who didn't just kill people—he played with them like they were pawns in his sick little game.
Riccardo had everything he needed to take Salvo down. But every time he thought he had proof, it vanished like smoke.
Like it was never there.
And Alfio—aka me—was nothing more than a plot device meant to bring Riccardo and Salvo face-to-face.
Alfio's first meeting with Riccardo?
A classic cliché.
He was pickpocketed on the streets, and Riccardo, being the noble hero he was, just happened to be nearby; he helped Alfio chase down the thief and—
Bam.
Love at first sight.
Ugh.
Of all the tropes to get stuck with, why did it have to be that one?!
I mean, seriously. What kind of bad luck do you need to not only transmigrate into a doomed character but also get stuck with a head-over-heels romance that spirals into fiery tragedy?
But still…I read it.
Every. Damn. Chapter.
Because—well, we all find some stories cliché… and yet they were interesting at some point.
Right?
Sure, I rolled my eyes at the predictable plot twists and sighed at Alfio's hopeless devotion to Riccardo, but deep down?
I was hooked.
So…Riccardo and Alfio kept bumping into each other after that, fate shoving them together until they naturally fell in love.
And then?
Boom.
Salvo noticed. And that's when all hell broke loose, because here's the thing—Not every villain is born a villain.
And...Salvatore Mancini wasn't. He became one because fate gave him no other choice.
How?
When Salvo was just ten, he went on a family picnic with his parents and his baby sister. She was only one year old, but that day ended in tragedy.
A hit-and-run accident.
And the person behind the wheel?
Riccardo's mother.
The women had been driving recklessly, and the crash killed Salvo's parents on the spot. His baby sister survived… but she would never walk again in her whole life.
If they had gotten help in time, maybe—just maybe—his parents would've lived.
But she drove away.
So, that was the reason why he became a villain?
Nope.
It wasn't just about the accident. Riccardo's father was an ex-cop, and instead of facing the consequences, he covered up his crime.
Why?
Because his precious wife couldn't handle the thought of going to jail.
And when little Salvo and his grandfather fought for justice…They were silenced.
Permanently.
The Salvatro family was wiped off the map. All except for Salvo and his baby sister, and that's when Salvo vowed to destroy Riccardo Costa.
And Riccardo's weakness?
Alfio Russo.
Salvo didn't just want to hurt Riccardo; he wanted to steal Alfio's happiness; he wanted to snatch away all the things Riccardo loved, including Alfio.
And that's how Alfio got caught in the crossfire…
…only to die in the end.
Woah...What kind of messed-up novel did I read?!
"..."
"FUCK."
"The author's brain must've been fried by the end. Why kill Alfio…why?!"
My voice echoed in the tiny apartment, frustration bubbling over.
He was a victim too!
"..."
Ugh… I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "…And I'm that tragic male lead of this fucking novel?"
"NO. Not happening."
I leaned back, confidence radiating like I was the mastermind of a foolproof plan.
"Okay. No, Riccardo. No Salvo. No tragic ending. I'll live a quiet, safe life and avoid this entire dumpster fire of a plot."
Easy, right?
"That's right. It's easy."
I nodded, as if saying it out loud would somehow make it true.
"Let's just live a simple, pretty life. Avoid Riccardo and Salvo. Get a boring job. Eat pasta. Enjoy the sunsets. Maybe get a cat…"
I paused.
A cat.
Yes. A fluffy little thing that doesn't get me tangled in love triangles and mafia drama.
"Perfect."
I could already picture it—me, lounging on this uncomfortable couch with a cat purring beside me, sipping overpriced coffee and scrolling through Instagram like any normal person.
No heartache. No bullets. No dying in a fucking fire.
"See? Who says transmigration has to be tragic? I'll just coast through life like a side character. I won't even look at Riccardo or Salvo."
I gave myself a self-satisfied nod, feeling like I'd cracked the ultimate cheat code.
"Avoid the main plot. Stick to the background. Easy peasy."
That's what I thought. Until...
Ding! Ding! Ding!
I blinked.
What the hell was that?
My phone.
I glanced down and—oh.
A message. From the police station.
POLICE:We've identified the suspect in your case. Please come to the station to retrieve your belongings.
"...."
I stared at the screen, blinking slowly.
"No."
I put the phone down like it was infected with the plague, scooting away from it as if that would somehow distance me from reality.
"I know exactly where this plot is going."
This was the scene where Alfio meets Riccardo for the second time, and not just any casual, forgettable meeting.
The meeting that sets the whole damn plot in motion.
Alfio's fateful trip to the station. He goes to collect his stuff, bumps into Riccardo again, their eyes meet, and—bam—feelings again.
A doomed romance born from one stupid encounter.
"Nope. Not happening." I shook my head so hard my brain probably rattled. "I am not going."
I stood up, pacing around my tiny apartment like a caged animal.
"I don't need that old wallet. Let them keep it. Hell, donate it to charity!" I waved my hands dramatically, as if that would somehow erase the message from existence.
"I am not meeting Riccardo Costa. Not today. Not ever."
My resolve was solid. Unbreakable.
…For exactly 2.5 seconds.
Ding!
Another message.
POLICE:The items we retrieved include some cash, a driving license, bank cards, and your college ID.
I froze.
"Crap…" All the important stuff.
ALL. OF. IT.
Alfo's wallet wasn't just a bunch of loose change and expired coupons. It had his bank cards (which I needed to survive), his license (which I couldn't replace easily), and…his college ID too.
"Damn… how could Alfio lose everything?!" I groaned, slumping further into the couch like a deflated balloon.
"This guy's luck is worse than mine."
And that was saying something. I loosened up like a spring that had snapped, lying there, defeated by life. But after a full minute of sulking, I sat up straight, shaking my head as if to dispel the doom hanging over me.
"Okay. No problem. No problem at all."
I told myself, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. "Just go to the police station, grab your stuff, and ride back home. Simple."
I took a deep breath and muttered with renewed determination, "And avoid Riccardo Costa at ALLLLLLLLLLL COSTS."
I even emphasized the 'all' by dragging it out for dramatic effect.
"Easy."
I puffed out my chest, feeling ready to take on the world. That confidence lasted… oh, maybe five minutes.
Because as soon as I walked out the door and looked around, realization hit me like a brick. This guy...yeah, now me. I didn't have anything to get to the police station.
No wallet meant no bus pass. No bank cards meant no cash for a cab.
"…not even a bicycle."
I glanced at the empty spot where Alfio's bike probably should've been. But of course, it was gone. Just like everything else in my life.
But still I tried to be positive.
"No problem," I grumbled through clenched teeth. "It's fine. It's totally fine because… I can just walk."
My eye twitched.
"I…have…to…WALK."
To the police station. In the scorching Italian sun.
With no money.
No ride.
And an increasingly terrible mood.
"Fantastic." If fate had a face, I'd punch it.
"Why do I feel like I'm already living a tragedy?"
And so, with the enthusiasm of a man heading to his own execution, I started my long, painful journey toward the police station.
***
After what felt like an eternity — and with my feet screaming bloody murder — I finally dragged myself through the station's doors.
I paused at the entrance, my eyes doing a full sweep of the area like a paranoid spy in an action movie.
Okay, No Riccardo. No complications. Perfect.
My heart thumped louder than it needed to, but I wasn't taking any chances. I squinted, scanning every corner of the station. Officers. A couple of civilians. No tall, ridiculously handsome cop with a jawline that could cut glass in sight.
"Good. Coast is clear."
I exhaled, shoulders relaxing just a little. "Alright… get in, get out. No complications."
With renewed determination, I stepped inside, mentally chanting my plan like a mantra.
Step one: Retrieve belongings:
I walked up to the front desk, plastering on the most polite smile I could manage despite feeling like a half-dead zombie.
"Uh… hi. I'm here to retrieve some belongings?" I cleared my throat, trying not to sound suspiciously nervous.
The officer, a bored-looking guy with a coffee in one hand, barely glanced up. "Name?"
"Alfio Russo."
A few taps on the keyboard. Silence. Then, finally —
"Ah, yeah. One sec."
He disappeared into the back, and I waited, shifting my weight from one foot to the other like a kid about to get scolded by the principal. Minutes dragged on, but eventually, the officer returned with a small plastic bag filled with my precious essentials.
Wallet. License. Bank cards. College ID.
I almost cried.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I snatched the bag like it contained the meaning of life.
Mission accomplished.
Step two: Avoid fate like the plague:
"Okay. Now…" I let out a deep breath, plastering a victorious smirk on my face. "Time to walk out of here like a winner. Riccardo-free, Salvo-free. Life is good."
I made it out the front doors, head held high. My feet felt lighter, my heart swelling with relief. I did it. I broke the plot.
"Hah! Take that, fate! I win!"
Step three: Get home and never think about this moment again:
Easy.
But just as I was about to step off the curb…my foot caught on something.
"Wait—what the—"
Time slowed.
One second I was walking.
The next?
I was tripping over my own damn shoe.
"No, no, no—!"
I flailed, arms flapping like a deranged bird, fully prepared to kiss the pavement. But instead of meeting the cold, hard ground…A firm hand grabbed me.
Strong. Steady.
And then, I heard that familiar, low voice.
"Whoa… careful there."
My head snapped up…
Riccardo Costa.
Tall. Gorgeous. Sharp jawline. Those piercing eyes staring down at me with mild concern and… amusement?
"…Are you okay?"
....
And just like that my heart — that traitorous, idiotic organ — decided now was the perfect time to thump like it was trying to escape my chest.
I froze, eyes wide, as Riccardo, his sharp gaze locking onto mine.
"…Shit."
And just like that…
Fate screwed me over again.