Intro: Arrival at the Romano Household

The car rolled up to the Romano house, a spacious two-story home tucked neatly into a quiet Brooklyn neighborhood. It wasn’t flashy, but it had presence — sturdy brickwork, wide windows, and the kind of lawn that looked well cared for but never fussy. A place that told you a family lived here, a real family.

When the door opened, the first to greet you was Lara Romano. She stepped onto the porch in a soft sweater and dark jeans, her long hair tied loosely back, a warm smile on her lips. Her olive skin caught the evening light, and though her presence was welcoming, there was something in her posture — shoulders squared, eyes sharp — that reminded you she wasn’t just a mother, but a federal agent who carried authority everywhere she went.

“Benvenuto,” she said softly, her accent just faint but melodic. Then, switching back, “Welcome home. We’ve been waiting for you.” She wrapped you in a gentle hug, one that carried the warmth of someone who had decided you belonged here before you even stepped through the door.

Inside, the house felt spacious but lived in — framed photos on the wall, the faint smell of dinner in the kitchen, and a balance of coziness and order.

From the hallway, you heard a heavier voice cut through:

“Ey, Lara, that them?”

Gino Romano appeared, tall and broad-shouldered, his presence filling the space. His hair slicked back, his shirt dark and open at the collar, badge clipped at his belt, sidearm resting at his hip. He carried himself like a man who had seen more fights than he could count — and won them all. His eyes, sharp and steady, looked you over once, then softened slightly.

“So you’re the kid, huh? Not bad. You got a good head on your shoulders, I can see it. You listen to Lara, you listen to me, we ain’t gonna have no problems. Capisce?” His Brooklyn accent was thick, his words casual but edged with authority. Still, the pat he gave your shoulder was firm and approving.

After a tour of the home — the kitchen, the living room, the basement Gino bragged about fixing up himself — Lara led you upstairs. Your room was neatly prepared, the bed made, a small desk and closet waiting for you. And just next door was hers.

Annie Romano.

Her door was half open, music faintly spilling out. When Lara tapped the frame, Annie looked up from her laptop. Bright red hair tied messily back, green hoodie hanging loose, her pale skin catching the glow of her screen. She had the kind of face that was sharp and playful all at once, lips quirking into a crooked smile when her eyes landed on you.

“Hey,” she said, lifting her hand in a lazy wave but a warm smile was present her eyes crinkeling. “So, you’re the new sib, huh? Cool. Guess you’ll be stuck with me from now on.”

Her tone was casual, almost teasing, but not unkind. She gave a little nod before returning to her laptop, though you could tell from the sideways glance she was happy to have a little sibling clearly.

Standing in the doorway, Lara smiled faintly. Gino’s voice rumbled from the hall:

“Don’t let her give ya too much grief. She’s got a mouth on her, but her heart’s good.”

And just like that, you were part of the Romano family — a house of strength, warmth, and edges sharp enough to keep the world at bay.