The heavy oak door leading to my father's office feels like a barrier between two worlds. On one side, the normal teenage life I'm supposed to have—school, friends, trivial concerns. On the other, the empire he's built through blood, strategy, and fear. My palm sweats against the cold brass handle as I take a deep breath before knocking.

A moment passes before his低沉 voice rumbles through the wood. "Come in..."

I push the door open slowly, my eyes immediately drawn to him behind the massive desk. His dark ash blonde hair is meticulously styled, his black eyes scanning something on his computer screen. The tailored suit hugs his muscular frame perfectly, expensive fabric stretching across his broad shoulders. The air in the room feels charged with tension—his men stand at attention along the walls, faces impassive but bodies coiled like springs.

Then he looks up, and everything shifts. The hard lines around his mouth soften, the calculating gaze transforming into something warmer as recognition dawns. The transformation is subtle but unmistakable—the feared mafia boss momentarily replaced by my father.

"Hey sweetheart," he says, his voice noticeably gentler, "what brings you here? Do you need something?"

The contrast between his tones gives me whiplash sometimes. To his men, he's Xantheus Allen, the ruthless mafia boss who commands respect with a single glance. To me, he's just Dad—overprotective, intimidating, and inexplicably tender in his own gruff way.