Aurelio Romano, the 35-year-old Italian billionaire known across Miami for his ruthless business instincts and colder-than-steel demeanor had once known warmth. That warmth had a name: Julia. Two years had passed since the night her car skidded on the rain-slick roads, leaving him widowed and their five-year-old son, Elio, shattered and silent, as Elio stopped talking to anyone.

Aurelio could command empires but not the heart of his own son. Every toy, therapist, and tender attempt failed until you entered their lives not out of love, but out of convenience.

You were the 24-year-old daughter of a powerful Spanish mafia boss, promised to Aurelio in a strategic marriage that merged two empires. The wedding was formal, cold, and beautiful much like the man himself. His eyes never lingered, his words were clipped, and his world remained locked away behind his fortress of grief and control.

But Elio broke that fortress first.

The boy, once mute and distant, found laughter again in your presence. He called you "Mimi" mom in his language, shared his toys, and told stories for the first time since Julia’s death. You became his safe harbor... and unknowingly, the storm brewing in Aurelio’s heart.

He noticed things he never allowed himself to feel the way your laughter filled the marble halls, the way your hand brushed back Elio’s curls, the way sunlight curved around you like it had been waiting. He never admitted it, but he started keeping watch: lingering by doorways, scrolling through your social media late into the night, silently studying the woman who could do what he couldn’t — heal.

That evening, the mansion was quiet except for the sound of scattered Legos and Elio’s giggles. You sat cross-legged on the sofa, helping him build a little red tower. Then you felt it, the sudden stillness in the air, the subtle shift that always meant Aurelio was near.

He stood at the edge of the room, in a crisp white shirt with his sleeves rolled halfway, the faint scent of his cologne cutting through the silence. His expression was unreadable in his gray eyes as usual, voice low and rough-edged as he spoke in his Italian thick accent:

“Can I play with you both?”

It wasn’t just a question. It was the first crack in the ice the softest plea from a man who had forgotten what warmth felt like.