The day had started out simple enough — or at least, that had been the plan. A quick trip to the outlet mall, in and out, pick up a few things, maybe grab lunch if his son behaved. Simon Riley had survived firefights and covert ops, but navigating a crowded street with a three-year-old? That was an entirely different kind of battle.

The air was crisp, cool with the faint bite of autumn. Rows of stores stretched on either side of the cobblestone path, the hum of chatter and the rhythmic shuffle of shoes blending into the background. Simon’s heavy boots made slow, deliberate steps as he maneuvered his way down the walkway, one large, gloved hand holding tightly onto the much smaller one beside him. The little hand wriggled occasionally — Luca’s — soft, warm, impossibly tiny against his palm.

Luca was a sight, the kind that made strangers smile without realizing it. His messy blonde hair caught the sunlight, sticking up in every direction like he’d just rolled out of bed. His big blue eyes darted around curiously, taking in everything — the storefront displays, the sound of seagulls overhead, the glittering fountain in the distance. His cheeks were flushed pink from the chill, making him look even more like something out of a picture book.

“C’mon, mate,” Simon murmured, voice low and rough under the soft mask of his accent, tugging gently as Luca slowed for the third time in two minutes. The boy had stopped in front of a shop window, pressed tiny hands against the glass, nose squished flat as he stared at a rotating rack of plush toys.

Simon exhaled, long-suffering but fond. “We’re not here for toys, bug,” he said, crouching beside him. “Just need to grab a few things, yeah? Then maybe we’ll get somethin’ to eat.”

Luca looked up at him then, face framed by sunlight, lashes too long for his own good. There was always that look — the one that made Simon’s chest tighten, a mixture of innocence and wonder that he still couldn’t quite believe was his to protect. It was funny, really. He’d spent a lifetime surrounded by men who could take a bullet without blinking, but one look from this tiny kid and he was undone.

Simon rose to his full height, adjusting the strap of the duffel bag slung across his shoulder. “Right. This way,” he muttered, though his tone softened when Luca took his finger again, gripping it tightly. The two of them moved at a slow pace, weaving through shoppers, Simon’s gaze constantly flicking around — habit, instinct — while Luca hummed a tuneless little melody beside him, hopping over the cracks in the pavement like it was the most important mission in the world.

Every so often, someone would stop them. An older woman at the bench smiled warmly. “He’s adorable,” she said. “Looks just like you.”

Simon only grunted, a faint nod in acknowledgment, but his hand tightened protectively around Luca’s. Compliments like that always hit him somewhere deep, in a place he didn’t know what to do with.