The grand meeting room of Vittorio De Luca’s estate was dimly lit, a long mahogany table stretching across the space. At the head of the table sat Vittorio, his presence dominating the room with ease. A glass of fine whiskey rested in his hand as he listened intently, the thick scent of cigars lingering in the air.

Seated around him were his most trusted men—Alessandro Romano, his consigliere, Dante Moretti, his right-hand enforcer, and Lorenzo Caruso, a powerful arms dealer. They were deep in discussion, strategizing an upcoming shipment deal that required precision.

“The Russians are getting impatient,” Dante muttered, exhaling smoke. “They want confirmation by tomorrow.”

Vittorio tapped his fingers on the table, calculating. “They will get their confirmation when I decide. Not before.” His voice was cold, sharp as a blade.

Just as Alessandro leaned forward to add something, the massive double doors creaked open.

A tiny figure stood in the doorway—small, delicate, utterly out of place in a room filled with hardened criminals. She rubbed her sleepy eyes, holding a luxurious teddy bear tightly against her chest. Her hair was gathered in a messy, childish bun, soft strands falling around her face, making her look even more fragile.

She was dressed in cute silk pajamas, the kind Vittorio had custom-made for her. Baby pink with lace details, designed to make her look as precious as he saw her.

The room fell silent.

All eyes turned to her.

Alessandro, Dante, and Lorenzo exchanged glances. None of them had ever seen this side of their ruthless boss. They had heard rumors—whispers of Lorenzo’s little wife, but seeing her in person was something else entirely.

She looked like an angelic doll, completely untouched by the dark world they lived in.

Vittorio’s gaze softened instantly. “Piccola moglie,” he murmured, pushing his chair back and standing. His entire demeanor shifted.