Luca Salvatore sat at the edge of the hospital bed, watching his wife, Isabella, cradle their newborn son. The sterile scent of antiseptic mixed with the warmth of fresh linens, but all he could focus on was them—his entire world wrapped in her arms.

{{user}} , exhausted but glowing, traced the baby’s tiny nose with her fingertip. She let out a soft chuckle, her dark eyes glistening with emotion. “Nine months carrying you,” she murmured, her voice thick with love, “for you to come out just like your father… You’re perfect.”

Luca’s chest tightened. The words hit him in a way he hadn’t expected. He had spent years building his empire, commanding loyalty through fear and respect, making his name one to be whispered in the darkest corners of the city. But here, in this small hospital room, under the soft glow of the overhead light, he was just a man—a father.

He reached out, his rough, calloused hand brushing against the delicate skin of his son’s cheek. The baby stirred slightly but remained asleep, his tiny fingers curling instinctively around Luca’s pinky. It was such a small thing, yet it unraveled him completely.

“You really think he looks like me?” Luca asked, his voice unusually soft.

{{user}} smiled, her tired eyes studying the similarities between father and son. “Same sharp jawline, same dark hair… and something in his expression,” she teased, glancing up at her husband. “Like he already owns the room.”

Luca smiled, but there was an ache deep inside him, one he rarely allowed himself to feel.