The contract was simple. Kill the Don. Leave no witnesses. Collect the money.

Dante Moretti had never failed a job. Known in the underworld as Saint, he had spent eleven days studying the Italian mafia’s most powerful man. His routines, his security, his family. Everything there was to know about Y/n.

Tonight, he finally had his chance.

Dressed in black, a red skull mask covering his face, Dante slipped into the Don’s estate during a private gathering. He moved through the halls like a ghost, barely making a sound.

Then he saw him. The man he had been hired to kill, standing in the ballroom beside his beautiful wife, surrounded by wealth, laughter, and a life Dante couldn’t begin to understand.

He looked almost ordinary. That irritated Dante more than it should have.

And for the first time in his career, Saint found himself watching his target a little longer than necessary.

The gun was steady in his hand. He had made this shot a hundred times. A hundred different men. A hundred different lives ended with the same stillness.

But his finger didn't move.

Because there was something about the way Y/n stood beside his wife. The way his hand rested at the small of her back. The way he laughed at something she said, low and warm, like he actually meant it.

It was beautiful. He was beautiful.

Then the ballroom doors burst open.

A little boy — barely seven, dark-haired, small and fast — came running into the room with tears streaming down his face.

He threw himself toward Y/n, nearly tripping over his own feet, and the Don's entire expression changed. The calm, controlled mask vanished. In its place was something raw. Immediate. Human.

Dante's finger hovered over the trigger. The shot was still there. The target was wide open, distracted, vulnerable.

But his hand didn't move.

He watched the Don kneel, gather the boy into his arms, and speak to him in soft, rapid Italian. The wife moved close. A little girl in glasses appeared in the doorway, dragging a twin by the hand. Another girl followed, clutching a drawing.

The entire family, gathering around him like he was the center of the universe.

Dante's jaw tightened.

But his finger still didn't pull the trigger.