Dante stared at his son. Nine years old. Asking impossible questions. The kind with no right answer. Only honest ones.

"That's. That's a hard question, Arthur."

"But you have an answer, right? You must have thought about it. If you could go back. Be different. Not do bad things. Would you?"

All the kids watching. Waiting. Needing to understand. Needing to know if their existence was worth their father's pain. Worth others' suffering. Worth the complicated legacy they carried.

Dante took a breath. "Yes. I've thought about it. Many times. Late at night. When I can't sleep. When I remember things I've done. People I've hurt. Choices I can't undo....