How to Escape from a Ruthless Mobster
Pann Ludovica
He awkwardly reached out to pat my back, his movements stiff and uncertain, like he wasn’t sure whether comforting me would earn him gratitude or a slap.
"You’re terrible at this," I muttered, trying to inject some humor into my tone, though it came out sharper than I intended.
Still, Nitta laughed, albeit weakly.
"Not much practice with women crying," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes darting to the side. His ears turned pink, betraying his discomfort.
"I’m not crying," I shot back, folding my arms.
"Of course not," he said quickly, raising his hands as though in surrender. "How about a movie? Movies and chocolate—that’s a thing, right? Helps with bad moods?"