Chapter 2 - THE ADVICE OF A THREE-YEAR-OLD
Luca took one slow step forward onto the Persian rug. His heavy leather dress shoes made no sound against the thick wool. He looked down at the tiny girl standing in his private dressing room, taking in the absurd contrast of the lavender princess dress, his long black tie hanging to her shins, and the dark sunglasses covering her eyes.
"And what do important people do, Mia?" Luca asked softly, tilting his head slightly as he observed her.
Mia didn't need time to think. She shifted her toy briefcase to her left hand, raised her tiny right index finger into the air, and spoke with the absolute, unquestioning authority that only a child possesses.
"They protect the little people," Mia declared.
The words hung in the warm, lavender-scented air of the dressing room.
Luca’s expression subtly changed. The faint amusement in his steel-gray eyes vanished, replaced by a sudden, profound quietness that reached deep into his chest. In his brutal, high-stakes world of syndicate territory wars, extortion, and strategic violence, "important people" were defined by how many soldiers they commanded, how many politicians they bought, or how much fear they projected across the city.
Yet this three-year-old girl, sitting in his house because her mother cleaned his floorboards, had summarized the entire moral duty of a leader in five simple words.
Before Luca could respond, frantic footfalls clicked rapidly against the marble corridor outside.
Elena Reyes—Mia’s mother—burst through the dressing room doorway, her face pale, her hands shaking violently. At twenty-eight, Elena was a quiet, protective woman wearing the estate’s simple gray-and-white maid uniform, her brown hair pulled back in a practical bun. She had spent two years working quietly in the Valente estate, terrified of making a single mistake that could cost her her job or her daughter's safety.
"Mr. Valente!" Elena gasped, her breath catching in her throat as she saw her daughter standing in front of the feared crime boss wearing his clothes. "Oh, God... Mr. Valente, I am so sorry! I was folding linens down the hall and she slipped away—Mia, come here right now!"
Elena rushed forward, her face filled with pure, suffocating horror, reaching out to grab Mia’s arm and pull her away from the towering man in black.
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Luca raised his right hand—a single, calm, horizontal movement.
"Leave her, Elena," Luca commanded gently. His voice carried zero anger, only an absolute, quiet authority that made Elena freeze instantly in her tracks.
