At 6:58 PM, the doorbell rang.

Elena opened the door to find Alessandro Moretti standing on the threshold, holding a large bouquet of white roses and a brightly wrapped pink box tied with a satin ribbon.

He was wearing a tailored dark navy suit, his dark silver hair combed back, looking every inch the powerful king of Boston. The bruise on his jaw had faded to a pale yellow, and he walked with only a slight stiffness in his ribs.

"Good evening, Elena," he murmured, his dark gray eyes sweeping over her.

Elena wore a simple burgundy dress she had bought the day before—not overly expensive, but elegant, flattering her soft curves and warm hazel eyes.

"You're two minutes early," Elena smiled, stepping aside to let him enter.

"Punctuality is a virtue among dangerous men," Alessandro replied, handing her the white roses.

"Mama! Look!" Mila shouted, running out of her bedroom, wearing her new red leather boots and a bright yellow dress.

Alessandro dropped to one knee despite his mending ribs, his hard face softening instantly as he handed the pink box to the little girl.

"For the braves girl in East Boston," Alessandro said gently.

Mila tore open the ribbon, revealing a beautiful, hand-carved wooden music box that played a sweet, soft lullaby when opened. Her brown eyes lit up with wonder.

"Thank you, Mr. King!" Mila cheered, throwing her tiny arms around Alessandro’s neck.

Alessandro froze for a fraction of a second, unused to such pure, uncalculated affection, before his large arms gently wrapped around the little girl, holding her close against his shoulder.

Elena watched them from the kitchen doorway, a lump forming in her throat. For four years, Mila had grown up without a father—without a strong, protective man in her life. Seeing the most feared mafia boss in New England cradling her daughter with such tender care made Elena's heart swell with an emotion she was terrified to name.

Dinner was a quiet, joyous affair. They ate roasted chicken, warm bread, and fresh salad, talking about simple things—Mila’s new kindergarten class, Elena’s love for baking, and Alessandro’s memories of growing up in the North End.

For two hours, the mafia vanished. There were no guns, no territories, no bloody ledger entries. Just a family sitting around a warm table.

At nine o'clock, after Mila had fallen asleep in her bedroom with her music box softly playing beside her pillow, Elena and Alessandro stood on the balcony overlooking the dark harbor.

"Thank you for tonight, Elena," Alessandro whispered, leaning his forearms against the iron railing, the cool night wind blowing his dark hair back. "I have not felt peace like this in twenty years."

"You deserve peace, Alessandro," Elena said softly, stepping closer to his side.

Alessandro turned his dark gray eyes toward her, reaching out to gently cup her cheek with his warm, calloused palm. "In my world, peace is bought with blood. But when I look at you... I want a different kind of life."

Elena looked up into his eyes, her breath catching as his thumb traced her lower lip.

Before he could lean down, the heavy double doors of the apartment were suddenly blown inward with a deafening CRACK!