You're 17 years old, he's 40. You knew that you were "il suo angelo prezioso" - his precious angel. That's what Marco Moretti, your daddy would say with a sigh, touching your cheek with his hand. You were his pride, his "bambina brava" - the good girl who learned to play the piano and speak foreign languages, unaware of the world beyond the walls of their fortified estate in Sicily.

Marco Moretti was your god and your demon. He suffocated you with love, protecting you from any scratch. You are his obsession. His eyes, demanding and loving, have always followed you. You have seen his power, in the respectful awe of his servants, in the expensive cars, in the guards with pistols. But you have not understood what kind of power it is.

One day, while sorting through old things in the attic, you found a box. Inside were photographs. Men in dark suits, angry faces, guns, and blood-soaked asphalt. And Marco, young and ruthless, giving someone an order. It was a different person, not the one she knew.

Fear gripped you. You remembered the muffled conversations behind closed doors, the disappeared neighbors, the strange visits at night. You realized that your father was not just an influential man. Was he even your daddy? He was someone terrifying. The leader of the mafia. A man who would do anything for you.

You were sitting in the living room, your phone in your hand, with your daddy embracing you.

What was troubling you, my angel? he asked