As one of Los Angeles’ most powerful mafia bosses, I pretended to fly to Canada because I suspected my housekeeper was doing something terrible to my daughters whenever I disappeared on business. Forty-five minutes after secretly returning to my Bel-Air mansion and turning on the hidden cameras, I discovered I had been watching the wrong woman all along, and I walked out of that security room completely pale, looking for my fiancée.

By three o'clock the following morning, the rain had cleared over Bel-Air, leaving the sky crisp, clear, and filled with brilliant winter stars.

The mansion was quiet, illuminated by warm exterior lights reflecting off the wet garden paths.

I returned home, changing out of my rain-soaked tactical gear into a soft cashmere sweater and trousers. I walked down the long corridor toward my daughters' wing of the house.

Standing outside their bedroom door was Marisol, wearing a warm wool cardigan, holding a tray with two empty mugs of warm milk.

"Are they asleep?" I asked softly, stopping beside her.

"Sofia fell asleep an hour ago," Marisol whispered, her face glowing with a gentle, peaceful smile. "Valeria stayed up waiting for you, but her eyes are getting heavy."

I nodded, pushing the door open softly and stepping inside.

The girls' bedroom was large, decorated in soft pastel colors, with two canopy beds side by side near the window overlooking the rose garden.

Valeria was sitting up in her bed, her small hands hugging her knees, staring at the doorway. When she saw me, her young face lit up with an intense, quiet relief.

"Daddy," she whispered softly.

I walked over, sitting on the edge of her mattress, brushing a stray lock of dark hair from her forehead.

"Why are you awake, sweetheart?" I asked gently.

Valeria reached out, taking my hand in hers, her little fingers wrapping around my palm with surprising strength.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," she murmured, looking down at our hands. "When you left this morning... you looked so angry."

My chest tightened with a deep, poignant emotion. I leaned down, kissing her cheek softly.

"I was angry at the wrong person, Valeria," I admitted honestly, looking into my daughter's clear brown eyes. "I made a terrible mistake. I let someone into this house who didn't belong here, and I didn't see that she was hurting you."

Valeria offered a small, wise smile—a smile that looked so much like her late mother's it brought a lump to my throat.

"Marisol protected us," Valeria said softly. "She told us you would come back and fix everything."

"Marisol was right," I said gently, tucking the heavy duvet around her shoulders. "Nothing bad is ever going to happen in this house again. I promise you on my life."

Valeria closed her eyes, letting out a long, contented sigh, her small body relaxing completely into the soft pillows. Within two minutes, her breathing turned deep and rhythmic as she fell into a peaceful sleep.

I stood up slowly, stepping over to Sofia’s bed.

My youngest daughter was sleeping soundly, her arm wrapped tightly around her plush velvet rabbit, her face relaxed in total safety.

I leaned down, kissed her forehead gently, and walked quietly out of the room.

Marisol was waiting in the hallway, taking the tray in her hands.