127.For nearly twenty years in Mexico City, the mere mention of my surname was enough to make dangerous men lower their voices.

That night, the private penthouse suite of our fortified Polanco residence was filled with the scents of roasted garlic, fresh rosemary, and warm bread.

Elena was in the kitchen, humming an old bolero, while the television in the adjoining media room played cartoons at top volume. Sounds of laughter, the thumping of running feet, and the occasional crash of a plastic toy echoed through the high ceilings.

I stood out on the private wrap-around terrace, looking out over the glittering lights of Mexico City. A glass of vintage Scotch rested untouched on the marble ledge beside me.

Soft footsteps approached.

Sofia slid her arms around my waist from behind, pressing her cheek against the center of my back. I could feel the warmth of her breath through my linen shirt.

I turned around within her embrace, gently placing my hands on her waist, mindful of her healing shoulder.

"Are you ever going to drink that?" she asked, nodding toward the glass.

"I don't need it anymore," I smiled softly, picking up the glass and tipping the amber liquid over the edge, watching it vanish into the night air hundreds of feet below. "I spent five years trying to drown your ghost with that poison. Now that the real woman is here, it tastes like ash."

Sofia laughed, resting her forehead against my chest. "You were always too dramatic, Alejandro."

"I was a broken man, Sofia." My voice dropped, the smile fading into raw, unvarnished honesty. "When they told me your car burned... when I stood over that empty grave... part of me died. The part that cared about being human."

Sofia looked up into my eyes, her expression softening with an ache of shared sorrow.

"I wanted to run to you every single day," she whispered, her thumb tracing the hard line of my jaw. "Every time Mateo laughed... every time Julian caught a cold... I wanted to pick up the phone and hear your voice. But I knew what Hernan was capable of. If he had suspected even for a second that I was alive, he would have hunted us to the ends of the earth. I had to wait until the boys were old enough to run, old enough to remember your name."

"They know my name," I said, a lump forming in my throat. "They know it too well. Diego tried to order the security guards to bring him ice cream this afternoon using my exact tone of voice."

Sofia burst into laughter, burying her face into my chest. "Oh, God. He’s you. Completely you. We’re in terrible danger, Alejandro. There are four of them."

"Let them be wild," I whispered, kissing the top of her head. "They grew up in the shadows. From now on, they live in the sun."

Suddenly, the terrace door slid open with a rattle.

Mateo poked his head out, his hair wildly mussed, holding a wooden spatula like a broadsword.

"Dad! Diego stole the television remote and he hid it on top of the refrigerator!"

"Did not!" Diego’s voice yelled from the living room. "Leo told me to do it!"

Sofia raised an eyebrow at me, crossing her arms with a triumphant smirk. "Well, Don Moretti? You’ve conquered cartels, broken corporate boards, and terrified the Mexican Senate. Let’s see how you handle an interior dispute over Saturday morning cartoons."

I looked at my wife, then looked down at my eldest son, who was looking up at me with absolute faith that his father could solve any problem in the universe.

"Tell your brothers to assemble in the grand salon," I said to Mateo with mock gravity. "The boss is coming."