Victor Rinaldi, a man who commanded the underworld of New York with an iron fist and a voice that could make veteran hitmen sweat, froze. For three agonizing years, the word mom had been a banned substance in this house—a ghost haunting the hallways, wrapped in the cold agony of a tragedy no one dared to speak of.

Three days later, the Rinaldi mansion looked less like a fortress under siege and more like an actual home.

The broken furniture had been replaced. The toy airplanes still hung from the crystal chandeliers—at my insistence—giving the grand estate a touch of chaotic childhood joy. And tonight, the house buzzed with a different kind of tension.

Lucia was arriving.

My seven-year-old angel stood in the grand foyer, her tiny pink backpack clutched tightly in her hands, her big, expressive eyes wide as she stared up at the towering marble pillars, the sweeping staircase, and the four Rinaldi boys standing awkwardly near the entrance like a welcoming committee of reformed thugs.

"Hi," Tommy said softly, stepping forward and holding out a somewhat battered comic book. "I'm Tommy. This is Leo, Dante, and Marco. Welcome to the house."

Lucia looked at the comic book, then up at me for reassurance. I knelt beside her, smoothing her dark curls.

"It's okay, sweetheart," I whispered, smiling. "These are my friends. They're good guys, I promise."

"Even the tall one?" Lucia asked, pointing a small finger toward the stairs.

I looked up. Victor was descending the grand staircase slowly, dressed in an impeccably tailored black tuxedo. He looked like the king of the underworld, dangerous and untouchable, yet his expression softened the moment his dark eyes locked onto Lucia.

He stopped a few steps above us, resting one hand casually in his pocket.

"So," Victor said, his deep, resonant voice echoing through the foyer. "You must be Lucia."

Lucia didn't cower. She squared her small shoulders, jutted out her chin with the exact same stubborn fire I possessed, and looked the most feared man in New York straight in the eye.

"I am," Lucia said clearly. "Are you the boss of this castle?"

A slow, disarming smile spread across Victor’s face. He walked down the remaining steps, knelt down until he was eye-level with my daughter, and extended a large, calloused hand.

"I suppose I am," Victor said, his voice laced with amusement. "And I have strict instructions from your mother that I am required to treat you like a princess. Does that meet with your approval?"

Lucia looked at his outstretched hand, then solemnly shook it. "As long as there's dessert after dinner."

Laughter erupted through the foyer. Even Marco cracked a wide grin.

"Deal," Victor said, standing up and looking over at me. The look he gave me wasn't one of a boss to an employee, or a protector to a charge. It was the look of a man who realized, terrifyingly, that his fortress had finally been breached from the inside out.

Later that evening, after Lucia had fallen asleep in her newly decorated, sunlit bedroom down the hall from the boys, I walked out onto the back terrace to catch my breath.

The night air was cool, carrying the scent of rain and blooming jasmine from the courtyard gardens.

"She looks like you," a deep voice murmured from the shadows.

I turned to see Victor leaning against the stone balustrade, holding two crystal glasses filled with amber whiskey. He extended one toward me. I took it, our fingers brushing lightly, sending a familiar, electric jolt up my arm.

"She has my stubbornness," I sighed, taking a small sip of the smooth liquor. "God help whoever tries to break her heart when she grows up."

"They won't have to worry about that," Victor said quietly, turning his gaze from the skyline to me. "They'd have to get through me first."

I looked up at him, the moonlight catching the sharp lines of his face, the dark intensity of his eyes. The space between us suddenly felt entirely too small.

"You've done so much for us, Victor," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't even know how to begin to repay you."

Victor stepped closer, closing the distance between us until I could feel the heat radiating from his chest. His gaze dropped to my lips for a split second before locking back onto my eyes.

"You already have, Serena," he whispered, his voice rough and low. "You brought the light back into this dark house. Don't ever leave."

Before I could answer, a loud crash echoed from inside the mansion, followed by Marco shouting, "Leo just dropped the entire box of pizza on the rug!"

Victor closed his eyes, letting out a long, heavy sigh of sheer resignation, while a laugh bubbled up in my throat.