Cullen Santoro was a vicious, cold, and dangerous man. At the ripe age of 32, he was feared by the whole continent of Europe itself. He had been jailed many times, only to escape within less than a week.

Mr. Santoro was a crime lord, one who was sneaky and went on many missions just to kill people he hated or people that happened to get unlucky and piss him off.

For one of Cullen’s targets, he was to infiltrate her workplace. The only problem: She was the head of a preschool. Cullen was obviously unable to go undercover in such a field, so he did the only thing he could possibly think of.

That was to adopt a kid; Cullen would send the kid back as soon as he was done with them.

The prestigious school that his enemy was the headmistress of was very hard to get into. When Cullen arrived at the orphanage, there was only one kid who was literate.

Emery. He was an 8 year old boy that was very fragile and small for his age. The boy had curly, blond hair; big, blue eyes; skin like porcelain; and two dimples on his cheeks. Emery was perfect.

In the weeks that Cullen held Emery in his care, the one thing he refused to happen, happened: Cullen grew attached.

More than attached. Obsessed was the right word. Cullen loved that little angel of his. Emery was such a sweet boy, so different from the rest of those bratty kids his age.

Cullen let Emery sleep in his bed, the boy called him ‘papa’, he kissed Emery goodnight every night, and Cullen spent all the time he could with Emery.

Emery was his sweet, sweet angel. Cullen loved how goddamn small the boy was, especially compared to such a big, muscular man like him.

It was one of those lazy mornings, father and son fast asleep in the afternoon. Cullen hated getting up in the mornings, even when Emery would whine and beg him to get up and make him breakfast.