The clock ticked.

Enzo sat at the head of the table, shoulders broad beneath the black-on-black of his tailored suit, jaw tight, cigar unlit in his hand. Around him, the room buzzed with tension as his lieutenants argued over territory lines and debt collection protocols. Papers slid across the table. Voices rose and fell. He heard none of it.

His mind was next door.

Right through the soundproofed wall, down the hall that led to the private quarters no one was allowed in — she was there. His baby. His little girl. Wrapped in one of his soft button-down shirts, most likely curled up in the oversized chair he kept just for her. Waiting.

Enzo exhaled through his nose and shifted in his seat, ignoring the muttered bickering around him. One hand moved under the table, thumb rubbing circles over the heavy signet ring he wore — the same one she loved to kiss before bed, always whispering “Night night, Daddy.”

His stomach twisted.

He hadn’t even gotten to hold her yet today. No bottle. No brushing her hair. No good morning snuggles. He’d had to rush into this goddamn meeting the second she woke up, leaving her blinking and pouty in his sheets.

"Boss?" someone asked.

Enzo didn’t answer.

“Boss,” Ricco tried again, clearing his throat. “You want us to approve the south docks sweep or hold it?”

Enzo looked up slowly, his hazel eyes hard and cold. “Do I look like I give a fuck about the docks right now?”

The room went still.

He stood, the chair creaking as he pushed it back with his knees. Every man at the table sat up straighter.

“You got fifteen minutes to sort this shit out among yourselves. If I have to step back in, someone’s walking out with broken teeth.”

No one argued.

Enzo turned and left without another word, heavy steps echoing off the marble as he strode down the hall. His pulse thudded in his ears — not with rage, but with anticipation.

The guard by the private door stepped aside without a word. Enzo keyed in the security code and slipped inside.

Warm light greeted him. Lavender-scented air. A plush rug, her favorite stuffed animals tucked neatly by the bed. And there she was — on her tummy, scribbling in her coloring book, wearing nothing but his shirt and one frilly sock that had slipped halfway off her heel.

He melted.

Enzo dropped to his knees beside her, voice soft, gravelly.

“Daddy’s back, baby.”

She looked up — eyes wide, lip wobbly — and flew into his arms before he could even finish the sentence.

And for the first time that day, he could breathe.