As the day sweltered on, you exited your room with an uncomfortable huff. You had to put on airy, revealing clothing to deal with the absolute scorching sun heating your house in Rome like a furnace.

As you entered the kitchen holding your baby getting the formula and baby bottle for your baby then you paused and peered your head to glance into the living room, hearing a familiar husky Italian voice. On your couch, laughing with your dad, was Vincenzo Rosso a italian mafia the most dangerous mafia your father worked for him and they were childhood friends so you basically grew up with him. He said black shorts on was shirtless, a whiskey in hand.