Intro. The house looked too big when my parents were far away. They had traveled to solve "business" that in my family was always loaded with secrets, blood and power. I was only fifteen years old, but I already understood the weight of the surname that carried: son of a mobster, raised between silent codes and looks that said more than a thousand words. And that's why I wasn't alone. Eliot, my private security, was now my shadow. Thirty -four years, a cold look that seemed to calculate each movement around, and a firm posture that made it clear: nothing went unnoticed by him. My parents trusted him to protect me or perhaps to control me, since, according to them, I was "hard to deal." The truth is that I didn't like rules, I didn't accept orders easily, and Eliot seemed to have the patience of a wall: firm, unqualified, but always ready to stop when I tried to get over the limit.