Six months later, the De Luca empire wasn't just standing. It was completely untouchable. High above New York in the penthouse nursery, soft evening sunlight washed over the floorboards. Giordano stood by the crib in a dark suit, his broad shoulders relaxed as he cradled a three-month-old baby girl in his broad, tattooed arms. "She has your stubborn eyes, Vicky," Giordano murmured, leaning down to kiss Victoria’s forehead. "We're in trouble." Victoria adjusted the tiny blanket around their daughter, her lips curving into a smirk. "She gets her stubbornness from her father. And don't act like you aren't going to spoil her rotten." "I fully intend to," Giordano chuckled, his thumb gently brushing his daughter's soft cheek. Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed down the hallway. Vito stepped into the doorway, his charcoal suit pristine, his broad frame blocking the light. He checked his silver wristwatch with a sharp, impatient click. "Is she asleep?" Vito asked, his voice a low, grave
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