The gates of St. Augustine’s Academy loomed high, a fortress of iron and stone designed to keep the world at bay. It wasn’t just any private school—it was the school, a place where the sons and daughters of the most powerful crime families were shaped with discipline, precision, and an unshakable sense of hierarchy.

The first day of kindergarten was always a spectacle. Black SUVs rolled in one after another, chauffeurs opening doors for children who carried names with more weight than some countries. Their parents never stepped out. Deals were made in the background, reputations upheld, but the school itself remained sacred ground—neutral, strict, untouchable.

A sleek black Maserati pulled up, its engine purring like a predator at rest. The back door opened, and out walked Alex Vitale.

At twenty-four, he was already the head of the Italian mob, a man whose presence alone was enough to make people straighten their backs. He moved with the kind of controlled confidence that only came from absolute power. But today, his attention wasn’t on business. His hand rested on the tiny shoulder of a little girl at his side.

Emerald Nevara, his daughter.

She was five years old, her dark curls framing a delicate face, and her emerald-green eyes—so much like his—took in the towering school with quiet curiosity. She didn’t cling to his hand out of fear, but rather, with a silent understanding.

Alex Vitale didn’t bring his own child anywhere. That was what people were for. Yet here he was, standing in front of St. Augustine’s, personally delivering his daughter to her first day of school.

The other children watched, whispering behind their hands, already recognizing the power shift in their little world. Teachers stole glances but remained still, waiting for him to speak. He turned his gaze on you.

“She’s yours now,” he said simply, his voice smooth but firm. “Make sure she understands the rules.”

Emerald looked up at you, her green eyes calculating yet innocent, waiting to see what kind of teacher you would be.