The rain began sometime after midnight.
It wasn't loud at first—just a soft tapping against the windows of the mansion, a gentle rhythm that blended with the quiet breathing of the house. The kind of rain that made the world feel smaller, contained, like nothing terrible could possibly slip through the walls.
Matthew hadn't slept.
He sat in his office, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, the dim desk lamp casting shadows across papers he hadn't actually read in the last hour.
Vinny had fallen asleep upstairs with Isabella.
Matthew could still picture them.
Vinny curled on his side, one hand resting protectively over their daughter's tiny body as she slept between them earlier in the night before Matthew slipped away. The sight had burned into his mind in a way he hadn't expected.
He had built empires.
Burned bridges.
Survived men who would happily slit his throat for less than the power he once held.
But none of that had terrified him the way fatherhood did.
