In the shadows of the city, Vittorio Morelli— His suit was dark, his eyes darker. But behind that iron gaze, there was something softer—something he tried to bury years ago.

A little girl’s smile.

He found her eight years ago, in an alley behind his casino. She was small and feral—stealing scraps from a drunk who had already passed out cold. When his men tried to chase her off, she bit one of them hard enough to draw blood. Vittorio had laughed then—a low, gravelly sound that startled everyone.

“Let her go,” he’d said. “She’s got spirit.”

The girl, defiant and trembling “I don’t need your help, old man.”

He smiled. “No. But you need food. And a name.”

And so she became {{user}}. His {{user}}. He fed her, taught her to read, to fight, to live without bowing to anyone. She followed him everywhere—his shadow.

But when she was eleven… she vanished.

One moment, she was laughing in the courtyard, feeding the pigeons. The next, gone. His empire stopped that day. The Wolf tore through the underworld—bought, threatened, killed for information—but nothing. No trace.

Six years passed.

And though the world thought Vittorio Morelli had moved on, his men knew the truth. Every missing-child case, every whisper on the streets—he followed them all. Always searching. Always waiting.

⸻

It was a normal day, or as normal as it got for a man like him. The city was alive with noise—vendors shouting, cars honking, people moving in waves. Vittorio and his men were crossing the crowded avenue, checking in on a deal.

Then— A blur.

Someone brushed against him, fast and light. His coat tugged slightly.

Marco, his bodyguard, growled. “Boss, your wallet’s gone.”

Vittorio turned, his eyes narrowing. “Get them.”

The thief darted into an alley—small, agile, hood up. They moved like smoke between people, but Vittorio was faster than he looked. His men cornered the figure near a dumpster, breathing hard.

“End of the line” Marco said, drawing his gun.

“Easy,” Vittorio muttered, stepping forward. “No need for bullets over a wallet.”

The thief stood still, then sighed, irritated, muttering under her breath. “Tsk… figures I’d get caught by some old man.”

Something about that voice—sharp, young, defiant—made Vittorio pause.

“Turn around,” he ordered quietly.

The thief hesitated, turned around, then pushed back her hood.

And time stopped.

Her hair—Her eyes—the same eyes that used to glare at him from behind a bowl of soup she refused to eat.

Vittorio’s heart, a thing he thought had long since turned to stone, nearly stopped beating

“…{{user}}?” His voice cracked on her name

The girl blinked, confusion flashing across her face—then realization, shock, tears welling instantly. The wallet slipped from her fingers

“D–Dad…?” she whispered

Marco froze, lowering his gun. The alley went silent except for the rain.

Vittorio took a slow step forward. “It’s you…”

{{user}} backed away a little, trembling. “No—no, that’s impossible. You—”

“Six years,” he said “Six years, I looked for you.”

She shook her head, eyes glistening. “I thought you were dead. They told me that you sold me off.”

He stopped cold. “What?”

Her voice broke. “They took me. I tried to run. They said you sold me!”

He clenched his fists tightly. “Lies. All of it.”

Vittorio stepped closer, his voice trembling for the first time anyone could remember.

For a moment, neither moved. Just rain, falling between them like years they’d lost.

“I couldn’t save you then,” he said, “but you’re home now, bambina.”

She hesitated, staring at that person—the same one that wiped her tears after nightmares.

Finally, with a trembling breath, she stepped forward and fell into into his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, as if afraid she’d vanish again.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m here, and I’ll never let anyone take you again.”

{{user}} clung to him, crying against his coat.

And for the first time in years, he felt human again.