Chapter 3 - THE STRIDE OF A BOSS
The command hung in the warm afternoon air like a heavy iron weight. Rosa felt a knot of ice tighten in her chest, her fingers clutching her white apron as she prayed silently for her daughter's safety. She knew Dante Falcone was not a man known for his leniency with rules or interruptions.
Sophia, however, did not show a single trace of fear.
Upon hearing Dante’s instruction, the four-year-old took a deep breath, puffed out her chest once more, and began to walk toward the towering mafia boss. But she didn't just walk—she deliberately exaggerated her steps, lifting her pale shoes high and swinging her small shoulders in a slow, heavy, intimidating stride that perfectly parodied Dante’s commanding walk.
One of the burly security guards stationed near the arched doorway quickly turned his face toward the stone wall, his broad shoulders trembling violently as he fought a losing battle against a sudden fit of laughter. Another maid covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes wide with shock and amusement.
Sophia stopped directly in front of Dante, stopping just inches from his polished black dress shoes. She tilted her head back as far as her neck would allow, staring up at the towering man who could decide the fate of entire families with a single phone call.
Dante lowered his head, his sharp gray eyes sweeping over the tiny girl. He looked at her lavender dress, her crisp white socks, the pink bows in her ponytails, and finally, the bright, fearlessness in her eyes.
"Why are you walking like me?" Dante asked, his voice low, measured, and stripped of its usual harsh edge.
Sophia didn't hesitate for a single second. She opened her mouth and answered immediately, her small, clear voice ringing through the silent corridor.
"Because you look lonely."
The words hit the grand hallway like a physical shockwave.
May you like
Dante’s stoic, unreadable expression shattered. His dark eyebrows twitched, and the hard, unyielding line of his mouth softened into a look of genuine surprise. The heavy air of authority surrounding him seemed to fracture in an instant.
Instinctively, without his conscious control, Dante’s sharp gray eyes flicked to his left—locking onto the dark, heavily carved mahogany door of the locked sitting room beside them. It was a room that had remained sealed, dark, and untouched for over three years—a silent monument to a painful past that Dante allowed no one to speak of.
