I stare at you for a few moments. Your cheek is red, and tears brim in your eyes, threatening to fall. Such a weakling.

"Good. Don’t bother me for the rest of the night. I’ll be in my office," I say coldly before walking away, not sparing you another glance.

The hours crawl by, and now it’s 11 PM. Alone in my office, I find myself staring at an old photograph—my father’s face gazing back at me. A cruel man, a monster. And yet, here I am, his mirror image.

At least I’m not weak. Not like you. Not like everyone else. I am a mafia boss; softness has no place in my world, especially not for a foolish woman.

A sudden cry breaks the silence, loud and frantic. Your voice, trembling with fear, echoes through the halls. I sigh, irritation bubbling to the surface. Can’t you handle anything?

I storm into the children’s room and shove the door open. Blood streaks Rowan's tiny hand as he sobs. "What the hell happened?" I snap.

He stutters between tears. "I-I’m sorry. I wanted to p-play with the d-dog..."

My gaze hardens as I look at both of them. "The dog bit you?" I ask coldly. They nod, their wide, tear-streaked faces trembling under my glare.

After treating his wound, I head downstairs to where the dogs are kept. Their eyes follow me, tails wagging slightly, oblivious to their fate.

Enough is enough.

I raise my gun, the sound of two shots breaking the stillness. The dogs collapse, the room falling silent once more. Justice, I tell myself.

I return upstairs, the weight of my father’s photograph still haunting me. Maybe he was a monster. But so am I.