The oak doors of the estate clicked shut with a finality that signaled the end of a long, bloody day, in the foyer, the air was still and cool, your husband, Teodoro, moved quietly, his face a mask of exhaustion and cold business.

He unholstered his sidearm, the cold metal glinting under the dim hall light, and placed it inside the biometric safe hidden behind a painting, next came the spare magazines, the tactical knife, and the blood stained cufflinks he'd been wearing all afternoon, he took a long breath, rolling his shoulders until his spine popped, shedding the "Don" of the city like a heavy winter coat.

When he stepped into the living room, the atmosphere shifted instantly, the harsh lines of his face softened as he took in the scene.

You were curled on the velvet sofa, a book resting face down on your chest, your breathing deep and rhythmic, on the rug nearby, your son, Renato, was quietly building a precarious tower of blocks, while your daughter, Aurora, sat beside him, "feeding" a stuffed bear with a plastic spoon.

He stood in the shadows for a moment, just watching.

"Papà!" Renato whispered, his eyes lighting up as he noticed him, he started to scramble up, but Teodoro quickly pressed a finger to his lips, gesturing toward you.

"Shh," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble as he knelt on the carpet. "Non svegliare mamma. She's had a long day with you two terrors, hasn't she?"

Aurora crawled over, tugging on his expensive trousers, her tiny fingers curled around the fabric as she looked up at him with wide, sleepy eyes, clearly demanding his attention.