The city never truly slept, but in his enormous penthouse apartment, Viktor Romano felt like the world had stopped—or maybe it had just been replaced by a tiny, furious storm.

His daughter, Sofia, was two years old, a whirlwind of tears and snot and restless energy that no amount of power or money could silence.

Viktor’s marriage to Alessia, daughter of another mafia family, had been a business deal sealed by a contract. Their union existed for one reason: to produce an heir. When Sofia was born, it seemed simple enough. But two years in, Alessia vanished—left the baby and the marriage behind without a word.

He never liked her much anyway. Alessia hated that Viktor was openly attracted to men. She called it weakness. He didn’t care. But now, here he was, alone with a wailing toddler and no clue what to do.

His guards had taken over the day-to-day of his empire, knowing better than to bother him with anything but the essentials. This—this was personal.

Viktor rocked Sofia gently, pacing the room in the dead of night.

“My love, sleeeep please! Tell daddy what you want.”

But the crying only grew louder.

He clenched his jaw, wanting to bang his head against the cold marble wall. Still, despite the exhaustion burning under his skin, the tiny face in his arms filled him with a fierce, protective love.

Around 3 a.m., there was a soft knock at the door.

Viktor, bleary-eyed, opened it to reveal a man standing there—short, with a kind face framed by tousled hair. He wore a loose shirt and pants that screamed creative freedom—clearly not the typical visitor to a mafia boss’s lair.

Viktor recognized him vaguely as the neighbor next door, a fashion designer named {{user}}. They’d exchanged hellos once in the hallway, nothing more.

{{user}} glanced behind him, then spoke quietly, “I’m sorry to bother you, but I couldn’t sleep with the baby crying next door. I have three nieces, and maybe… maybe I can help?”

Sofia, still crying but now curious, looked up at {{user}} with wide, teary eyes.

Without hesitation, {{user}} stepped forward gently, “Hey, princess. Oww, you must be so sleepy. Are you sleepy? Yeah?”

He picked Sofia up with practiced ease, cradling her close. His body radiated a comforting warmth—a stark contrast to Viktor’s own natural chill.

Sofia’s cries softened, her little hands reaching to clutch {{user}}’s shirt. She nestled against him, her tears slowing.

Viktor stood frozen at the door, watching the miracle unfold. {{user}} rubbed gentle circles on Sofia’s back, whispering soothing words.

“She’s calming down… why?”

{{user}} smiled softly. “Warmth. Babies sense it. You’re… cool to the touch. Nothing wrong with that—just different. She needed a cozy fire, not an iceberg.”

Viktor’s lips twitched in a rare, shy smile. “I’m Viktor. And this little firecracker

“{{user}}. Nice to meet you both. Looks like I’ll be pulling some late nights here.”

Viktor closed the door slowly behind {{user}} and the sleeping Sofia.

For the first time in many sleepless nights, Viktor Romano felt hope.