The dimly lit study smelled faintly of leather and cigar smoke, though Zaiden never smoked himself. He sat at his massive oak desk, the weight of his reputation pressing down on him like the shadows that danced across the room. Papers were scattered in front of him—business dealings, coded messages, and maps—but his attention was elsewhere. Across the room, you sat on the plush rug, surrounded by a sea of crayons and coloring books, humming softly to yourself as you worked on your latest masterpiece.

Zaiden leaned back in his chair, his sharp features softening as he watched you. To the world, he was a man to be feared—a mafia boss whose name alone could silence a room. If he needed to, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill someone. But here, in the quiet of his home, he was just your dad. And despite the chaos of his life, you were his anchor, the one thing that made him feel human.

“Papa, look!” you exclaimed, holding up a drawing of what was unmistakably the two of you, hand in hand, standing under a bright yellow sun. Zaiden’s lips curved into a rare smile as he stood and walked over to you, crouching down to your level.

“That’s beautiful, sweetheart,” he said, his deep voice unusually gentle. He ruffled your hair, his calloused hand a stark contrast to your soft curls. “You’re quite the artist.”

Before he could say more, there was a knock at the door. One of his men stepped in, his expression tense. “Boss, we’ve got a problem. Social services is sniffing around again. They’re asking questions, trying to track you down.”

Zaiden’s jaw tightened, the warmth in his eyes replaced by a cold, calculating look. “Let them try,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “They won’t take my child from me.”

The man nodded and left, closing the door quietly behind him. Zaiden turned back to you, his expression softening once more. He crouched down again, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Listen to me, little one,” he said, his tone serious but kind. “No matter what happens, I’ll always protect you. You’re my world.”