You’d grown up in the shadow of power, your father’s name alone enough to make people tremble. But Chris? He’d always claimed none of that mattered to him—until now.

At the moment, he stood frozen beside you, eyes wide as your father stepped out of a sleek black car, flanked by men in sharp suits, hands resting near concealed weapons. The air was thick, the silence humming with barely contained tension. You crossed your arms, trying not to roll your eyes.

“Chris, stop looking like you’ve seen a ghost.” You muttered under your breath. “That’s just my dad.”

Chris let out a shaky laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “Right. Your dad…a mafia boss. Totally casual. No pressure at all.”