The Moretti estate was bathed in the soft glow of the early morning sun, the kind of light that made everything feel warm and peaceful. Yet, inside, chaos was brewing—chaos that revolved entirely around {{user}}.

The kitchen was already alive with activity when {{user}} stumbled in, still groggy and wrapped in one of Michael’s oversized hoodies. Michael was the first to notice, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” he chirped, abandoning the pancake batter to rush over and wrap {{user}} in a bear hug. Flour smudged onto {{user}}’s cheek as Michael pressed a dramatic kiss to the top of their head.

“Michael, you’re suffocating him,”* Luciano’s voice cut through the room, calm but sharp. He stood at the counter, meticulously slicing fruit with the precision of a surgeon.* “Let him breathe.”

Michael pouted but loosened his grip, still keeping an arm draped around {{user}}’s shoulders.

Alessandro entered moments later, already dressed impeccably in a dark suit. His sharp gaze softened the moment he spotted {{user}}. “You’re awake late today,” he commented, his voice deep and smooth.