A Hungry Girl Found Him Shot With a Baby in His Arms—Unaware He Was the Mafia Boss

Rain returned to Chicago at eleven o'clock, washing over the grand, gothic iron gates of the Moretti Estate in Lincoln Park.

Dozens of sleek black limousines and armored SUVs lined the cobblestone driveway. Inside the grand ballroom, illuminated by massive crystal chandeliers and surrounded by armed guards in black suits, sat the bosses of the Midwest's most powerful crime families.

At the head of the long mahogany table stood Julian—a sharp, slick man in a tailored grey suit, holding a glass of scotch, a triumphant grin plastered across his face.

"Gentlemen," Julian announced, raising his glass to the silent, intimidating room. "The tragedy that occurred at the river docks two nights ago broke all our hearts. Our beloved leader, Dominic Moretti, and his infant heir were brutally taken from us by rogue elements. But the empire cannot remain leaderless. Order must be maintained."

An old, battle-scarred boss at the far end of the table—Don Carmine—slammed his fist onto the wood. "Dominic was a lion, Julian! His body hasn't even been recovered from the river! You expect us to hand you the throne before the blood on the docks is dry?"

"The law of the Council is absolute, Carmine!" Julian snapped, his eyes flashing with dangerous ambition. "A leaderless family invites federal intervention! If no heir claims the seat by midnight, the council votes on a successor. And I have the backing of the board!"

"Is that so?"

A voice cut through the grand hall like a diamond slicing through glass.

The double oak doors of the ballroom slammed open with a deafening thunderclap.

The room went dead silent. Fifty armed bodyguards reached for their holsters, but froze in place as a squad of elite tactical soldiers—loyal directly to the Moretti bloodline—marched into the room, assault rifles raised, sweeping the perimeter with red laser sights.

Walking down the center aisle, flanked by Marco on his left, was Dominic Moretti.

He was dressed in a pristine, custom-tailored black tux, walking tall and slow, his posture radiating absolute, undisputed authority. Though he was secretly strapped in tight medical bandages beneath his shirt, not a single trace of weakness showed on his sharp, lethal face.

And walking beside him, her hand resting gracefully on his forearm, was Hannah Blythe.

She wore an emerald silk gown that draped over her slender frame like water, her dark hair pinned back in an elegant updo, exposing her long, graceful neck. Though her heart was hammering against her ribs, she walked beside the mafia king with the quiet, regal dignity of a queen stepping onto her throne.

Behind them, held safely in Jade’s arms under heavy guard in the secure courtyard, was little Leo.

Julian dropped his glass of scotch. It shattered across the marble floor, liquid splashing like blood over his polished shoes. His face drained of all color, his lips trembling as if he were staring at a ghost rising from the grave.

"Do... Dominic?" Julian stammered, stumbling backward into his chair. "You're... you were shot!"

"I was," Dominic said, his deep, rumbling voice filling every corner of the silent hall. He stopped at the head of the table, looking down at the traitor with cold, absolute disgust. "Your mercenaries were quite inefficient, Julian. They failed to kill me. And they completely failed to take my son."

The room erupted into mutters of shock and excitement. Don Carmine stood up, a massive grin spreading across his weathered face. "Dominic! You're alive!"

"I am, Carmine," Dominic replied, stepping closer to Julian. He gestured toward Hannah, his arm wrapping gently around her waist, pulling her close to his side. "And I am alive because of this woman. Hannah Blythe. A woman who possesses more honor, bravery, and strength in her pinky finger than Julian has in his entire treacherous body."

Julian scrambled toward his security chief, panic screaming in his eyes. "Guards! Shoot them! He's an imposter! Shoot him!"

Not a single guard moved. The red laser sights from Dominic’s elite tactical squad were pinned squarely on Julian’s chest, forehead, and heart.

"The Council sees the truth," Don Carmine declared, his voice echoing over the quiet room. "The lion lives. The heir lives. Julian... your treason is exposed."

Dominic stepped directly in front of Julian, pulling a sleek silver revolver from his suit jacket. The room held its breath.

"You threatened my son," Dominic whispered, the words meant for Julian's ears alone. "You brought terror into my home. You made me bleed."

"Dominic... please... we were brothers..." Julian begged, dropping to his knees on the glass-littered floor.