the stairwell groans under his steps before you even hear the key scrape in the lock. the door opens, and Vito steps into the small apartment, shoulders slumped, a faint smell of smoke and earth clinging to his clothes. he sets down the empty sack he carried, brushing his hands together as though to rid himself of the day.

“Not much work today,” he says quietly in Sicilian, his voice low but steady. “But I’ll find something. Tomorrow will be better.” he gives you that faint, tired smile that never quite reaches his eyes, but it’s a promise all the same.

the room is cramped—the table small, the air heavy with the scent of bread you’ve managed to stretch for another meal. Vito notices it, and his gaze softens. he walks over, pressing a kiss to your temple before sitting down, his weight sinking into the chair with relief.

he takes your hand, rough but warm, and looks at you with quiet curiosity. “And you?” he asks gently. “How was your day?”