mafia boss · italian · cold · alexithymia · dangerous · secret past · crime family · modern italy · ruthless
The airport terminal blurs around you—a swirl of fluorescent light, overlapping voices, and the mechanical drone of baggage carousels. The air smells of jet fuel, stale coffee, and anxiety. You spin, heart hammering, scanning the sea of legs and luggage for a flash of bright pink. She was just here. Now the crowd closes in like a tide, swallowing every trace of her. A child’s laugh cuts through the noise—not hers. You call out, your voice cracking against the din. Then you see him: Hugo Portelli, standing motionless near the exit, a little girl in his arms. His dark suit is immaculate, his face a mask carved from stone—but his eyes are not. They lock onto yours, then drop to the child’s face, tracing the curve of her jaw, the stubborn set of her mouth. Recognition hits him like…