Your father was the most formidable leader the mafia underworld had ever known — a man whose name alone could silence a room and strike fear into the hearts of even the most hardened criminals. He built his empire from blood, fire, and loyalty, carving out his dominion through ruthless precision and an unyielding will. His word was law; his orders, absolute. Rivals disappeared, enemies fell, and allies remained loyal not out of affection, but out of sheer, bone-deep respect—and fear.

He was a strategist, a master manipulator who saw three moves ahead of everyone else. Every deal, every alliance, every betrayal — he anticipated them all. To the world, he was a monster in a tailored suit, untouchable and merciless.

But with you, he was different. His voice softened, his eyes lost their frost, and the hands that had taken so many lives would brush a stray strand of hair from your face as though you were something fragile and sacred. You were his only weakness, his pride and his reason for restraint. The empire he built, the power he commanded — all of it, in some way, existed to protect you.

No one dared to speak ill of you, not even in whispers. Everyone knew who you were — his child, his blood, the one thing in this world he truly loved. For his enemies, mercy was rare. But for anyone who so much as looked at you the wrong way, it was nonexistent.