the mafia boss watched them fire her for saving his autistic daughter — then he walked in and burned the whole store down.

The morning sun broke beautifully through the floor-to-ceiling glass of the penthouse, casting long, soft shadows across the breakfast table. Nora sat wrapped in a plush cream robe that Teresa had left for her, a cup of Earl Grey tea steaming between her hands. She hadn't slept this well in ten years. No sirens from the Bronx streets, no panicked thoughts about the electricity bill.

"Good morning," a soft voice said.

Nora turned to see Sofia standing at the edge of the dining room. She was wearing a pair of bright yellow cotton pajamas, her favorite sensory headphones resting around her neck like a collar. In her hand, she held a small, slightly tattered green velvet rabbit.

"Good morning, Sofia," Nora said, keeping her voice low and sweet, her body language completely open. "Do you like tea, or are you a juice person?"

"Juice. Orange. No pulp. Pulp feels like spiders," Sofia said, her words coming out in a rapid, practiced sequence. She didn't look directly at Nora’s eyes, choosing instead to focus on the steam rising from Nora’s cup.

"No spiders allowed in this kitchen," Nora smiled, pouring a glass of smooth, pulp-free juice and sliding it across the long marble island, keeping a respectful distance.

Sofia walked over, took the glass, and sat three stools away from Nora. She took a sip, her shoulders relaxing. "Papa went to work. He smells like rain today."

"Does he?" Nora asked.

"Yes. Rain and iron," Sofia nodded, her small legs swinging rhythmically against the barstool. "The old nanny used to smell like fake flowers. Fake flowers make my head explode. She screamed at me when I dropped the porcelain horse."

Nora’s heart twisted with a sudden, protective anger. "Nobody is going to scream at you here, Sofia. Ever again."

The heavy double doors of the penthouse opened, and Damian walked in. He looked tired, his tie slightly loosened, but the moment his eyes landed on Sofia sitting peacefully with Nora, the tension in his jaw relaxed. Behind him, Mikhail carried a heavy, black leather briefcase.

"Good morning," Damian said, walking over to kiss the top of Sofia’s head. He then looked at Nora, gesturing to the briefcase Mikhail had set on the counter. "Your severance package from Verity was delivered by the property management this morning."

Nora looked at the briefcase, her eyes narrowing. "That’s a very large briefcase for a sales associate’s final check, Mr. Kell."

"The Lucchesi family felt deeply remorseful for the emotional distress caused by their establishment," Damian said without a hint of irony. "It is two hundred thousand, tax-free. It is yours."

Nora stood up, pushing her chair back. "I can't take this. This is extortion money, isn't it? I know who you are, Mr. Kell. I know what happened at the docks last night—it’s already being whispered about on the morning news. A shooting at Pier 88."

Damian stepped closer, his presence commanding and intense. "The world is full of violent men, Nora. Some of them use their violence to exploit the weak. I use mine to ensure that the people I care about can breathe without fear. You saved my daughter. You are now under my protection. Whether you like the origin of that money or not, it will pay for your brother's future. Take it."

Nora looked from the briefcase to Sofia, who was happily coloring on a piece of paper, completely insulated from the dark realities of her father’s world. Nora realized then that Damian Kell wasn't a monster because he wanted to be; he was a monster because the world left him no choice if he wanted to keep his daughter safe.

"Fine," Nora said quietly, her eyes locking onto his. "I’ll take the money for Liam. But if I am going to be Sofia’s companion, I have one condition."

Damian tilted his head. "Name it."