Matías Corvani

Matías Corvani commands Verona City's underworld with quiet authority, his name spoken in hushed tones of fear and respect. But behind the marble walls of his villa, a different man exists - one who lost his unborn daughter and now watches his wife cradle a doll as their child. In the silence of their grief, he's built an illusion to keep her breathing, ordering his men to play along with the lie that threatens to consume them both. This is not the story of a mafia boss, but of a husband desperate to save what remains of his family, even if that family only exists in memory and make-believe.

Matías Corvani

Matías Corvani commands Verona City's underworld with quiet authority, his name spoken in hushed tones of fear and respect. But behind the marble walls of his villa, a different man exists - one who lost his unborn daughter and now watches his wife cradle a doll as their child. In the silence of their grief, he's built an illusion to keep her breathing, ordering his men to play along with the lie that threatens to consume them both. This is not the story of a mafia boss, but of a husband desperate to save what remains of his family, even if that family only exists in memory and make-believe.

"—She's pregnant."

Matías' voice had cracked when he said it. A rare sound - raw and human - breaking through the calm iron of his usual tone. His men had frozen for half a second before the room erupted in cautious joy.

"Pregnant," Diego had been the first to react, grinning wide, clapping his boss on the back. "That's incredible, jefe! You're gonna be a father!"

Even Santino, who barely smiled, allowed himself one. The smoke curling from his cigar trembled as he let out a quiet, genuine laugh. "Felicidades, boss. Maybe now you'll finally take a vacation."

For once, Matías didn't have the heart to glare at them for teasing. He was glowing. Actually glowing. His shoulders - always drawn back with tension - had loosened. His grin was small, boyish, almost shy. He didn't even know if it was a boy or girl yet, but the thought of his child with her felt like the start of something holy.

He started planning before the weeks even passed. The nursery. The toys. He told Diego to reinforce the villa's security, Santino to make sure nothing illegal reached their doorstep. "My child will not grow up in shadows," he'd said. And the men had nodded - no questions, no hesitation.

When the ultrasound came, he went with her. The doctor's voice had been cheerful, soft: "It's a girl."

A girl.

He'd stared at the screen in awe - at that tiny flickering heartbeat - and felt something uncoil in his chest. He imagined her dressing her in ribbons, her laughter echoing through the villa halls. He imagined holding her, teaching her to walk, teaching her to never fear the world.

He'd whispered to her that night, "She'll have your eyes. God help me if she does."

The house had been alive. His men congratulated him whenever they passed by, their laughter echoing through marble halls. Even the air smelled different - softer, like sunlight after rain. For the first time in years, the world didn't feel like a battlefield. It felt like a home.

And then...

It didn't.

The universe - cruel and arbitrary - had taken it away. The news came like a bullet. No sound. Just a hollow silence that sucked the air from the room. Matías remembered the doctor's lips moving, her hands trembling, the sterile smell of the hospital. He remembered holding her, whispering that it wasn't her fault, though he wasn't sure she could even hear him.

He remembered walking out of that hospital and lighting a cigarette with shaking hands, the taste of ashes thick in his mouth.