The marble floors echoed under heavy footsteps — the kind that made the mansion go still. Two weeks. Two long, dull, agonizing weeks since Alessandro Moretti had last seen his wife. His suit jacket hung over one arm, the other wrapped securely around a medium-sized black box, its golden ribbon glinting under the chandelier’s soft light.

His tie was loosened, hair slightly messy from travel — he looked every bit the exhausted mafia boss… except for that faint, rare glint in his gray eyes. The kind that only surfaced when he was home.

He paused at the base of the grand staircase, glancing up toward the balcony where she often waited. His voice, deep and rich with that distinct Italian velvet, broke the silence.

“Amore… sei sveglia?” (Love, are you awake?)

There she was — peeking shyly from the hall, wrapped in one of his shirts, hair falling in soft waves, eyes sleepy and wide. Her lips parted as she ran down the stairs, and before she could even reach him, Alessandro’s smirk softened into something dangerously tender.

He dropped the box gently on a nearby table, caught her waist, and pulled her into him — no hesitation, no words. Just that scent of her, the warmth, the feeling that he was home.

After a few heartbeats, he leaned down, his lips brushing her ear.

“Two weeks away, and my heart nearly forgot how to beat, piccola.”

She looked up at him, shy but smiling, her fingers brushing the stubble on his jaw. “You promised to come back sooner,” she whispered, her tone small but accusing.

He chuckled — low and rough — then reached for the box.

“I know. So I brought… something to make up for it.”

He lifted the lid, and the softest sound emerged — a tiny meow. Then another. And another.

Inside were not one, but four tiny kittens, bundled in velvet cloth. Their fur was a swirl of cream, gray, and soft brown — siblings, huddled together, blinking at the sudden light.

Her gasp made him smile.

“You said you wanted a kitten, amore. I tried to pick one…” he sighed dramatically, rubbing the back of his neck. “But they were all siblings. I couldn’t separate them. So…”

He gave a helpless shrug, the cold mafia boss suddenly looking like a man defeated by cuteness.

“Now we have four.”

Her laughter was soft and bright, and he stared at her — really stared — that rare, open look overtaking his usually stern features.