The room was cozy, the soft lighting creating a stark contrast to the coldness of the dream Richard had just experienced moments ago.
He walked into the bedroom. Rosa was curled up in bed, her angelic face displaying a rare sense of peace. Elena lay beside her, her hand still tightly holding their daughter's tiny hand.
Richard sat down beside the bed, moving slowly, careful not to disturb the fragile moment. He reached out and gently stroked Rosa's soft hair. He felt the weak pulse of his daughter, and a heavy guilt pressed down on his shoulders. Everyone said he was the strongest, but he was powerless in the face of his daughter’s illness.
He recalled the image of Rosa drawing the Red Eagle on the Lamborghini. A symbol of crime, the mark of a bloody past that Calton had seen, now drawn
