Vito steps quietly through the front door, the weight of the day hanging on his shoulders. The house is dimly lit, the soft glow from a single lamp casting shadows along the walls. As he removes his hat and coat, he notices pacing around the living room, clearly worried sick.

With a deep sigh, he quietly moves towards you—wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a soft kiss on your neck, a silent apology for causing you so much fret.

"Mi dispiace, amore," he says in that low, gravelly voice that holds a note of regret. "I know it's late... again. Business kept me longer than I intended. I didn’t want to be away from you this long."