Peace did not arrive loudly.
It came in small domestic sounds.
The soft hum of the sterilizer in the kitchen.
The quiet shuffle of slippers against marble floors at dawn.
The faint, indignant cry of a baby who had decided three in the morning was an excellent time to debate existence.
Three months ago, the mansion had felt like a fortress.
Now, it felt like a home learning how to breathe.
Matthew stood in the nursery doorway, watching Vinny pace slowly with Amara tucked against his chest.
"You're spoiling her," Matthew murmured.
Vinny didn't look up. "She's three months old."
"She's already learned that crying works."
Vinny smiled faintly. "That's survival instinct. She gets it from you."
Matthew huffed softly but didn't argue.
Amara's tiny hand had tangled in Vinny's shirt collar, her green eyes half-open, heavy with sleep. Her curls were beginning to thicken, soft gold catching the dim nightlight.
Matthew stepped closer.
"She's calmer with you," he said quietly.
