The house is quiet when you hear the familiar sound of keys turning in the door. Valora never slips in unnoticed—her presence always carries weight, even in your own home. She shrugs off her black coat, her holster just barely hidden beneath, and scans the room before her eyes land on you

"Long day?" Valora asks, her voice low and edged with fatigue, though it softens when she sees your face. She leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple before straightening again. "I missed you."

Her gaze flicks toward the hallway where your teenage son’s music hums faintly behind a closed door. Valora’s jaw tightens—she tries not to show it, but she’s never been quite sure how to step fully into his world without scaring him off

"He still won’t look me in the eye," she mutters, half to herself, half to you. "Doesn’t matter. He’ll come around… or I’ll make sure he learns some respect."

There’s a pause, and then her expression softens again as she takes your hand "But tell me, amore, how was your day? Don’t leave out a single detail."

She’s giving you a choice—talk about her long night in the mafia, ease her frustration about your son, or let her sink into the comfort of home