When he left his room, his long strides carried him down the hallway until he stopped before the pink double doors of his daughter's room. The moment he stepped inside, the child's eyes lit up like fireworks.
"Daddy!" she squealed, dropping her crayon and running to him with tiny steps that echoed across the polished floor.
His stern gaze softened instantly. The hardness that the world always saw dissolved as he bent down, scooping her into his arms. "My beautiful Adeila," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "How are you?"
"I am fine, Daddy!" she squealed again, her curls bouncing wildly as she giggled. "Tiara was with me throughout."
He glanced at the nanny briefly, then returned his eyes to the little girl, a smile tugging at his lips. To the world, he was feared but in this room filled with pink walls and childish laughter, he was simply her father.
Adeila was a sharp child for her age. Quick with words, quick to notice everything around her. And as he held her close, he knew she was the one pure thing in his world.
He shifted his gaze from his daughter to the nanny, his expression sharpening once more, as though the softness he reserved for Adeila had never existed.
"Has she eaten dinner?" His voice was deep, clipped, carrying the weight of command rather than casual inquiry.
Tiara straightened, folding her hands neatly in front of her. Her tone was respectful and steady, an innocence carefully woven into her words.
"She was waiting for you, sir. She only had some fruits to hold her over." she responded.
A flicker of emotion passed through his eyes, something between guilt and pride, but it vanished quickly behind the mask of authority. He set Adeila back down gently, brushing one of her curls aside.
"Dinner should already be served. Adeila, let us go and eat" he said looking at her. The little girl clapped her hands excitedly, already tugging at his hand. Tiara knew better than to follow them to the dining room. The master valued that space as sacred, his time to feed his little girl with his own hands. No one else was permitted to interrupt. To him, it wasn't just dinner. It was their ritual, the rare window where father and daughter bonded away from the noise of guards, business calls, and bloodstained deals. For a man whose life was built on power and violence, this was the only place his armor dropped. She stood quietly at the door, watching as Adeila tugged at her father's hand, leading him excitedly toward the dining hall. The sound of their laughter trailed behind them, echoing down the grand corridor.
The father and daughter arrived at the dining hall, where the long mahogany table was already lined with delicacies. Silver platters gleamed beneath the chandelier's glow—steaming bowls of creamy pasta, roasted lamb seasoned to perfection, a spread of exotic fruits, and pastries so delicate they seemed untouched by human hands. Everything was rich, expensive, and meticulously arranged, as though even mealtime was a performance of wealth. He guided Adeila to her seat, pulling out the small, cushioned chair made just for her. She giggled as she climbed onto it, her tiny hands smoothing her dress before looking up at him with expectant eyes. With a faint smile, he sat down opposite her. For once, his posture softened, no longer the cold, commanding master but a father intent on this small ritual of theirs. He reached for the serving spoon himself, ignoring the butler waiting discreetly at the side, and began to fill her plate.
The little girl clapped her hands happily. "Daddy, I want that one too," she chirped, pointing at the tray of golden chicken nuggets. He chuckled low in his throat, sliding the tray closer. "Of course, princess. Anything for you."
Seeing his daughter already ready to eat, he reached for her spoon and began feeding her himself. Each bite she took was followed by a cheerful chatter, her tiny voice filling the grand dining hall.
"Daddy, today I drew a big house with Tiara! And it had a puppy and a princess inside," she said between giggles, crumbs dotting her lips. He listened intently, nodding at her every word, his lips curving into smiles that no one outside this mansion would believe he was capable of. Occasionally, he laughed softly, a deep sound that rumbled from his chest, rare, precious, reserved only for her. Their conversation and laughter rose and mingled in the air, warm and pure, echoing through the high ceilings of the villa. Beyond the dining hall, the servants moved quietly in the shadows, their steps hushed. They knew better than to interrupt. This was sacred time, untouchable. For that one hour, the king of shadows was not a mafia lord. He was just a father, devoted entirely to the little girl who made him human. Even though she was fed her meal, the table still bore the evidence of her playfulness. Rice scattered like tiny pearls, sauce smudged on her little hands, and crumbs littered her chair. Yet her father only laughed, shaking his head fondly. To him, her mess was innocence, a world far removed from the blood and steel that shadowed his life. When she was filled, he signaled with a nod. "Tiara," he called, his voice carrying authority even in its calmness, "Take her upstairs and help her freshen up." Adeila obediently slipped from her chair, running into Tiara's waiting arms. The nanny smiled gently, carrying the child out of the hall. The sound of her giggles faded down the corridor, leaving silence in their wake. Only then did he turn back to the table. Picking up his fork, he began to eat slowly, deliberately. The warmth that had lit his features minutes ago vanished, replaced by the cold steel the world knew him for. His eyes grew distant, sharp, as his mind drifted back to the chaos outside these walls the betrayals, the rivalries, the blood debts that waited for his attention. The king who had just laughed with his daughter was gone. In his place sat the ruthless master of the underworld, calculating his next move. He ate quickly, aware of the little ritual waiting upstairs. No matter how heavy the world's chaos pressed on his shoulders, there was one duty he never neglected, his daughter's bedtime story. She loved nothing more than hearing his voice carry her into sleep. As soon as he finished, he pushed his plate aside. The servants, already poised, stepped forward silently to clear the table, but he paid them no mind. Rising to his feet, he made his way upstairs, his strides lighter now.
When he entered Adeila's room, the sight before him tugged a rare smile from his lips. She was already in bed, her curls spread across her pillow, a book clutched tightly in her small hands. He chuckled softly, easing the book from her grasp. "Impatient little princess," he murmured, settling beside her. His deep voice filled the pink room as he began to read, the words rolling gently off his tongue. Halfway through, he noticed her lashes fluttering shut, her breathing slowing into the rhythm of dreams. Even with the faint noises of the house beyond her door, Adeila drifted into sleep, secure in the presence of her father. Closing the book, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Goodnight, my heart," he whispered. As he rose, Tiara stepped forward quietly, drawing the blankets up around Adeila with careful hands. He spared the nanny a brief look before leaving the room, his footsteps fading down the hall.