A poor little girl was never supposed to enter the Moretti mansion, but when she found the Mafia boss struggling to breathe, she risked everything to save him—and her innocent question revealed a secret that made his most trusted lieutenant go pale.

Three weeks had passed since the night Victor Romano’s betrayal was exposed and crushed. The Moretti syndicate had undergone a violent, surgical purge, emerging stronger, leaner, and entirely purged of disloyalty.

Yet, inside the sprawling mansion, the most dramatic change wasn't happening in the boardroom—it was happening in the sunroom.

The sunroom had remained locked and draped in black fabric for three years, ever since Isabella and Daniel perished. It was Isabella’s sanctuary, where her grand piano sat covered in dust sheets, untouched by human hands.

Until today.

Lucas stood quietly in the doorway of the sunroom, holding a cup of black coffee. Sunlight poured through the massive glass ceiling, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.

Sitting on the piano bench was six-year-old Lily. Her asthma was completely under control now, thanks to the top-tier pediatric specialists Lucas had quietly flown in from Boston. Wearing a bright yellow sundress, her legs dangling far above the floor, she was staring in awe at the polished black keys of the grand piano.

"My mommy says only angels are allowed to touch this," Lily whispered reverently, not daring to press a single key.

Lucas stepped into the room, his heavy footsteps muffled by the thick Persian rug. He stopped beside the piano, looking down at the instrument that had once filled the house with life.

"Your mommy was wrong, Lily," Lucas said softly, his voice carrying a gentle warmth that his own men would never have believed he possessed. "This piano was meant to be played. Isabella would have loved someone with your curiosity touching these keys."

Lily looked up, her big brown eyes blinking. "Who is Isabella, Mr. Moretti?"

"She was my wife," Lucas said, sitting down slowly on the bench beside her. The leather creaked softly. For the first time in three years, sitting at this piano bench didn't feel like reopening a bleeding wound; it felt like exhaling a breath he didn't know he was holding. "And Daniel was my son. He was about your age when he used to hide behind this very piano."

Lily reached out, her small index finger timidly pressing middle C. A clear, resonant note rang out through the sunroom, echoing against the glass windows.

"Do you miss them?" Lily asked, with the brutal, innocent honesty only a child possesses.

Lucas looked down at the little girl, feeling a strange, overwhelming lump form in his throat. He reached out, placing his large, calloused hand over her tiny fingers, guiding them across the keys to play a simple, comforting chord.

"Every single day, Lily," Lucas murmured, a faint, genuine smile touching the corners of his lips. "Every single day."