The mansion felt quieter that morning.
Clara had already shown Alina around — endless hallways, polished floors, and rooms so perfect they didn't feel lived in.
Still, there was a heaviness in the air she couldn't explain.
Her first job was simple: organize Dario's office.
Simple — except the room looked more like a museum than a workspace.
Stacks of papers, a few ledgers, framed photos of men in suits… and one picture that caught her eye.
A young boy with dark hair and a rare smile, standing beside a woman with kind eyes.
"Don't touch that."
The voice came from the doorway — deep, calm, unmistakable.
She spun around. Dario was leaning against the frame, jacket off, sleeves rolled, watching her with unreadable eyes.
"I wasn't going to break it," she said quickly, stepping back.
His tone softened just slightly. "I know. Still… it's the only picture of my mother I have left."
Something in her chest tugged. She wanted to say she was sorry, but the words felt too small.
Instead, she nodded and whispered, "She looks kind."
He gave a short, humorless laugh. "She was. That's probably why she didn't last long in this world."
Silence stretched between them. Then, as if remembering himself, he straightened.
"Clara said you're settling in well."
"I'm trying."
"Good. Keep it that way." He walked past her to the desk, picked up a document, and paused. "Do you read contracts?"
"A little."
He handed it to her. "Then read this. Tell me if you notice anything strange."
She blinked. "You want my opinion?"
Dario smirked. "You seem honest. That's rare around me."
She took the paper, scanning the words — half nervous, half proud that he was actually trusting her with something important.
When she pointed out a small error, his expression changed — approval, faint but real.
"Not bad," he said quietly. "Your father wasn't the only one with a sharp mind."
Alina smiled faintly. "Thank you… I think."
He looked at her a moment longer, and for the first time, his eyes didn't look cold.
They looked tired.
"Take a break," he said at last, moving toward the door. "And, Alina—"
She turned. "Yes?"
His voice dropped, low and honest. "Don't lose that kindness of yours. This house has a way of killing it."
Then he was gone, leaving her standing there — heart racing, unsure why the words of a mafia boss suddenly felt like the kindest thing anyone had said to her in months.