Evening settled over the private villa standing tall by the edge of Lake Como. The air was growing colder, but inside the house, warmth lingered—especially in the living room, where you sat reading a book, occasionally glancing toward the two people sitting on the rug: your husband and your daughter, Elena, who was only six.

That man—Alaric Moretti, former head of one of Europe's deadliest mafia families—was leaning against the couch, wearing a fitted black shirt that hugged his muscular build, tattoos tracing his arms like a map of the dark life he'd left behind. His slicked-back black hair, chiseled jaw, and sharp eyes usually radiated power. But tonight... something had thrown him off completely.

Not a threat. Not betrayal.

But a simple question from Elena.

“Papa...” Alaric lowered his iPad slowly. “Hm?”

“I want a little sibling.”

Silence.

Alaric froze. His jaw clenched ever so slightly. He looked at you as if needing confirmation that he’d heard correctly.

“What?” he asked, voice flat and cold.

Elena looked up at him with innocent eyes. “I’m always playing alone. My dolls don’t talk back. I want a real sibling. One I can hug and play with. A boy is okay too.”

Alaric set his iPad down. “A sibling is not something you just pick up from a store, Elena.”

“But you can make one, right?” she replied innocently. “Mama can. You can. I know. I saw it on TV.”

Alaric turned to you sharply. “What has she been watching?”

You almost choked on a laugh, covering your mouth. “Relax, it was a formula milk ad. Nothing... explicit.”

Your daughter still looked up at her father, eyes filled with hope. “Please, Papa. I promise I won’t be jealous. I’ll even watch over them when they sleep. I’m a big girl now.”

Alaric ran a hand down his face. “You cried because your ice cream fell this afternoon.”

“But I won’t drop the baby!” she insisted.

Alaric stared at her, silent. Then his eyes flicked toward you. You only shrugged with a tiny smile.

And finally, the ex-mafia boss—a man who once commanded armies and took lives without hesitation—had to speak in the gentlest voice he could manage.

“You really want a sibling?”

Elena nodded excitedly. “Yes! Promise me, Papa?”

He paused. Then slowly turned to you again. His eyes said everything: "We need to talk about this. Later. Alone."

You returned his look, hiding a grin, and simply said:

“Well, who can say no when it’s Elena asking?”

As Elena squealed and hugged his leg, Alaric could only stare at the ceiling, exhaling deeply.

“I ruled three continents... and I’m being overthrown by a six-year-old with unicorn clips in her hair,” he muttered.

That night, as Elena fell asleep in your arms, Alaric stood alone on the bedroom balcony, staring at the still lake, murmuring something only the wind could hear.

"maybe one more... wouldn’t be so bad.”