𝘓𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘴

13.

Ares's P.O.V.

"Do not let her out of your sight. If some trouble comes up, contact us immediately."- I told 6 of our men, who nodded in clear understatement. 

It's 6PM and we tucked our baby sister in bed since she fell asleep quickly due to all walking, playing and sightseeing we did today. We assigned our best guards to watch over her and our personal maid - Poppy- is mere phone call away form coming here to tend to Vivi and whatever she might need: bath, food, playtime whatsoever. 

We left the penthouse and entered the lift, taking deep breaths. 

"I cannot believe that we are going to see papa."- sighed Mathew and we nodded, unable to absorb that either. 

Neither of us had guts to tangle Genevieve in this so soon. She needs to meet our papa in much cosier circumstances, not randomly pop up in what possibly is his mansion. He needs to be ready to meet his daughter too. 

Hence why we took her everywhere we could, letting her walk on her own as much as possible, so she could fall asleep quickly. Plan worked flawlessly - she was deep in slumber by 4PM. 

We got in the car and Winston drove off to that mansion. The three of us are very nervous, yet thrilled to bits. 

How we arrived at the mansion is a blur. 

My brothers and I approached the gates and 3 guards came closer to us, guns didn't go unnoticed by us. More specifically, the detailed handle - such handles have been in our Mafia for decades. It cannot be just a coincidence. 

"Comment pouvons-nous vous aider?"- asked a man, eyeing us attentively. (How can we help you?) 

"Nous sommes là pour Pierre Orlando Morales. Habite-t-il ici?"- I replied calmly and those 3 men exchanged odd looks. (We are here for Pierre Orlando Morales. Does he live here?) 

Before those men could say anything, our light blue eyes locked on the identical pair of eyes. 

6'5, robust, strapping body. Arms and hands covered in tattoos that are all too familiar to us. Dark blonde hair is just as messily styles as it always used to be. Black trousers, white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, leather shoes, Rolex on left wrist. 

"Papa?"- we almost whispered at the same time, not believing the sight in front of us. 

"Mes garçons."- spoke papa, rushing to us as we met him half-way. (My boys.)

"Mes fils. Dieu, tu m'as tellement manqué."- said warmly papa, hugging the three of us so fucking tightly, just like we have always been dreaming of. (My sons. God, I missed you so much.) 

Winston, Mathew and I could not contain tears, no matter how much we don't like showing such emotions. Papa hugged us more securely and we didn't waste any more time before hugging him just as tightly, feeling so fucking vulnerable. 

Winston's P.O.V.

Papa is alive. He is healthy, well, safe and right in front of us.

"Je suis tellement désolé pour tout, mes fils. Je suis tellement désolé de vous avoir quitté si longtemps. Tu es mon tout, je n'ai jamais cessé de t'aimer, les garçons."- stated papa lovingly, holding us in his strong, muscular arms. (I am so sorry for everything, my sons. I am so sorry for leaving you for so long. You are my everything, I have never stopped loving you, boys.) 

"Vous n'avez rien à vous excuser, papa. Nous vous aimons beaucoup et n'avons pas de rancune. Vous avez tout fait pour nous protéger."- said Mathew, blinking away as many tears as us. (You have nothing to apologise about, dad. We love you very much and don't hold grudges. You did all of it to protect us.)