for three years, a grieving mafia boss walks through his mansion every night until dawn, unable to sleep and refusing to enter one locked room from his past. then at three in the morning, his maid’s fearless little daughter follows the sound of his footsteps, loses her one-eared stuffed rabbit, and wanders straight into that forbidden room. instead of running from him, she looks up and says, “you walk all night because you’re sad.” what she does next finally makes the exhausted mafia boss stop walking.

By afternoon, the atmosphere in the Moretti mansion had subtly transformed. The tall, heavy velvet curtains in the main parlor—which had remained drawn shut for three years—were pulled back by Teresa under Dominic's explicit instructions, allowing bright autumn sunlight to flood the polished wooden floors.

Dominic sat in his study, working through financial ledgers, but his office door was left ajar. Outside in the hallway, he could hear the faint sound of Mia playing with her plastic building blocks, her soft chatter providing a background hum that somehow grounded him.

However, outside the high stone walls of the Moretti estate, the rest of the criminal underworld was not so peaceful.

In a downtown warehouse, Mateo Valenti—the young, ambitious head of the Valenti syndicate—sat across a steel table from his chief lieutenant, Lorenzo.

“Are you sure about this?” Lorenzo asked, leaning over a map of the Moretti property. “It’s the day before the anniversary. Every year on the 24th, Moretti shuts down his house. The perimeter guards retreat to the outer gatehouse, leaving the main house completely unprotected. He sits in that place alone, drunk out of his mind.”

Mateo Valenti lit a cigarette, a ruthless smile playing on his lips. “Dominic Moretti has held the ports for too long. He’s weak. He’s been a broken man since his wife died. He spends his nights walking around his empty house like a ghost. A man who mourns for three years is not a leader; he’s an obstacle.”

“If we hit the main house tomorrow night,” Lorenzo pointed out, “we take out the head of the Moretti family without having to fight through his army. But if we fail—”

“We won't fail,” Mateo interrupted coldly. “My father died in the war three years ago because Moretti was faster and meaner. But Moretti is old news now. Tomorrow night, when he’s locked in his dead kid’s room, we slip through the woods, enter through the east terrace, and end the Moretti bloodline for good.”

Mateo slammed his hand onto the table. “Prepare six of our best men. Silent weapons. We move at 3:00 AM.”

Back at the estate, Dominic stood by his office window, holding a glass of water. He watched the shadows stretch across the wide green lawn. A sudden chill ran down his spine—a sensation he recognized well. It was the instinct that had kept him alive through two decade-long mafia wars.

Someone was watching the estate.

He set his glass down and walked out into the hallway. Mia was sitting near the top of the grand staircase, trying to stack three wooden blocks on top of each other.

“Mr. Boss!” she called out happily, pointing to her tower. “Look! It’s tall like you!”

Dominic walked over and knelt beside her. He adjusted the base block so the tower wouldn't fall over. “Very good, Mia.”

Teresa emerged from the linen closet down the hall, holding a basket of fresh towels. She looked at Dominic, her expression a mix of gratitude and lingering shyness.

“Mr. Moretti,” Teresa said softly. “Thank you for letting Mia play up here. If she’s bothering you, I can take her downstairs.”

“She isn't bothering me,” Dominic replied, standing up. He looked at Teresa carefully. “Teresa, tomorrow night... I want you and Mia to stay in the guest cottage near the front gate.”

Teresa paused, catching the subtle change in his voice. “Is something wrong, sir?”

“No,” Dominic lied smoothly, keeping his tone calm so as not to alarm her. “Tomorrow is... a difficult day for this house. The guest cottage is warmer and quieter. I’ve already told Marta to prepare it for you.”

Teresa nodded, sensing the unspoken boundary. “Of course, Mr. Moretti. Whatever you think is best.”

Dominic looked down at Mia, who was now holding Barnaby the rabbit against her chest. She looked up at him with those big, clear brown eyes that seemed to see right through every wall he had built around his heart.

“You won't be sad tomorrow, right?” Mia asked quietly, reaching out to touch his sleeve.