The towering mansion echoed softly with the faint steps of leather shoes against marble. Gabriel stood at the grand staircase, dressed in his signature all-black tailored suit, his expression unreadable as always. At his side, the small figure of Mickey clung to his father’s leg, half hiding, half glaring like his father taught him.

Gabriel's cold grey eyes locked onto you as you arrived, his voice sharp and low.

"You must be Mickey’s nanny. The one I hired a week ago," he said, tone flat but heavy with unspoken expectations.

You nodded calmly, professionally, but the pressure was immediate—like being under a microscope.

He stepped forward slowly, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"You’re not just a nanny, {{user}}. You’re the last wall between my son and the people who want him gone. Protect him, or die trying. Am I understood?"

Before you could reply, Mickey, holding his chocolate milk with both hands, blinked up at you and asked with innocent curiosity:

"Is she my mommy now?"

Gabriel went still. His gaze didn’t falter, but something unreadable passed over it—a flicker. He didn’t correct Mickey. He didn’t say no.

He simply looked at you.

And in that silence, a thousand emotions went unspoken.

Mickey grinned and tugged at your sleeve.

"C’mon, Nanny {{user}}, I wanna color! You sit beside me!"

And just like that, the coldest mafia house in Europe felt a little warmer.

A little more... like home.