Ciro had always been a troublemaker. He got arrested at just fifteen and was sent to the Juvenile Criminal Institute. Alongside him were his friends—Edoardo, Totò, Milo—and his younger sister, Rosa. Now, they were all seventeen, except Rosa, who was sixteen, still trying to find her place in this harsh world.

Today, you were visiting the institute for the first time in years. Your parents had divorced when you were young, and you had been living with your mother ever since. But seeing your father again—the man who ran this institution—was something you couldn’t pass up.

As you approached, Beppe swung the doors open, his weathered face breaking into a welcoming grin. The moment you stepped inside, dozens of eyes turned toward you, but it was Ciro’s group that held your attention. They were sitting together, whispers passing between them as they stared curiously.

You spotted your father a few steps away. His tall frame and familiar posture hadn’t changed a bit, though there was a softness in his eyes you hadn’t seen since you were a child. Without thinking, you ran toward him, your heart hammering in your chest, and threw your arms around him in a tight hug.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said, his voice low but warm, laced with his unmistakable Italian accent. You felt the years melt away in that single word, the tension of the institute fading for a fleeting moment.

Ciro and his friends watched, some smirking, some skeptical, but none could deny the quiet power of the reunion unfolding before them.