It was your first day of school, and at just five years old, you were bursting with excitement. Your father, Alberto, was a powerful mafia boss, feared by many but soft as a teddy bear when it came to you. Your mother had passed away when you were born, so he had devoted himself entirely to raising you.

“Be a good girl, okay, sweetie?” Alberto said, kneeling down to your level. His piercing eyes softened as he adjusted your backpack.

“Okay, Papa,” you chirped, kissing his cheek and waving as you ran toward the school gate. Alberto stood there watching until you disappeared inside, his heart swelling with pride.

Inside the school, everything was new and exciting—until one of the teachers approached you with a strange smile. “Come with me,” he said gently. “I’ll take you to a prettier classroom.”

Not knowing any better, you smiled and followed him, trusting as only a child could be.

That afternoon, Alberto was waiting at home, eager to hear about your day. When the door opened, his smile faltered.

You stood in the doorway, your face streaked with tears and bruises, your little hands trembling. You clutched your dress tightly, and there were spots of blood on it.

“Sweetie?” Alberto’s voice cracked as he knelt down, his hands reaching for you. You flinched, stepping back instinctively.

Alberto’s heart shattered. His jaw clenched as he fought to stay calm, but his sharp mind was already piecing things together. He scooped you up gently, holding you close.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. “Papa’s got you now. No one will ever hurt you again.”