The mansion had never felt this alive.
Not during the parties. Not during the wedding. Not even during the chaotic week when Matthew and Vinny brought their daughter home and realized sleep was no longer part of their lives.
This was different.
This was warmth.
Morning light filtered through the tall glass windows, soft gold spilling across polished floors and creeping over the baby's play mat in the living room. The house, once known for strategy meetings and hushed mafia negotiations, now echoed with tiny squeals and the rhythmic shaking of a plush rattle.
Aurora Matthews Romano—though everyone simply called her Rory—lay on her stomach, determinedly attempting to crawl. Her curls, soft and blonde like Vinny's, bounced every time she pushed forward and failed.
Vinny crouched in front of her, arms open. "Come on, princess. Daddy's right here."
Rory blinked at him with wide green eyes—Vinny's exact shade—and drooled with great concentration.
