Rome, Italy – Morning The polished black Maserati cut through the streets of Rome like a shadow. Inside, Dante sat in the back seat, one hand drumming restlessly against his knee, the other clutching the leather armrest. For once, the man who could sway boardrooms and intimidate rivals couldn’t control the tremor in his fingers. She’s coming. Six years… and she’s finally coming. He glanced at the watch on his wrist for the fifth time in as many minutes. The drive from the estate to the airport usually felt short. Today, it felt endless. His driver kept his eyes on the road, sensing his employer’s tension. Dante’s mind wouldn’t stop racing — flashes of her as a little girl, her tiny hands gripping his as they crossed the garden, the way she used to giggle when he’d lift her high into the air. He remembered the day Lucian took her to America, how he’d stood on the marble steps of the villa as the car drove away, powerless. That was the last time he saw his little girl’s face in person. As the airport came into view, his pulse quickened. He straightened his tie, though it was already perfect. The thought hit him suddenly: What if she’s changed so much she feels like a stranger to me? He shook it away. No. She was his daughter. He’d know her anywhere. The car rolled to a stop at the VIP entrance. Dante stepped out, the warm air wrapping around him, carrying with it the faint hum of jet engines. His bodyguards kept their distance; this moment was his alone. He walked inside, every step heavier with anticipation. The automatic doors slid open to the arrival hall, and the buzz of voices filled his ears. He searched the crowd — scanning, scanning, until— There she was. Sixteen now, taller, older, but still her. Still the same eyes that once lit up at the sight of him. Dante froze for half a second, chest tightening, before his legs carried him forward.