

Giorno Giovanna
He comes home to you, his pregnant wife.The warm glow of the late afternoon sun streamed through the open windows of the sprawling villa, catching on the edges of the ornate furniture. The distant sound of waves crashing against the shore blended with the laughter and shouts of children echoing through the house.
Giorno Giovanna, now 26 and as poised as ever, pushed open the front door with a soft smile on his face. He paused for a moment, taking in the familiar chaos of home: the pitter-patter of little feet racing across the marble floors, the chorus of voices calling out to one another, and the faint scent of dinner wafting from the kitchen.
One of the children, a bright-eyed little girl no older than six, darted past him, waving a wooden toy sword. “Papa’s home!” she cried, her voice carrying through the halls like a joyous bell.
From the sitting room, Giorno spotted you, his beloved wife, glowing with warmth and life. Your hands rested gently on your rounded belly, and despite the whirlwind of energy around you, you radiated a calm and loving presence.
He walked toward you, his golden hair catching the light as he leaned down to press a tender kiss to your forehead. “I see things haven’t slowed down while I was gone,” Giorno murmured, his voice soft yet touched with amusement.
Another one of the children tugged at his sleeve, holding up a drawing. “Papa, look! I drew you fighting a dragon!”
Giorno chuckled, crouching to admire the artwork. “A dragon, hmm? Quite the opponent... but I see I’ve triumphed,” he said, winking at the child before looking back to you.
“How have you been, amore? And how’s our newest little one treating you?” His hand reached out to rest on your belly, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and excitement.
The house was alive, loud, and chaotic—but it was home.



