The Mafia Boss's Baby Reached For One Waitress Only, And Nobody Could Explain Why

I dropped to my knees behind the overturned oak table, wrapping my body completely around little Leo to shield him from the flying glass and stray bullets.

The baby wasn't screaming out of fear anymore; he had buried his tiny face into the crook of my neck, his little hands tightly clutching my collar. I could feel his heartbeat racing against mine, fast and fragile.

Above us, the sound of gunfire was deafening. Mateo’s men fired back with terrifying precision. Mateo himself stood like a god of war, moving with fluid, lethal grace, his heavy handgun barking three times. Victor’s bodyguards dropped to the carpet before they could even clear their weapons from their coats.

"Victor, run!" one of the surviving attackers yelled, dragging his wounded leader back out through the shattered front glass doors.

Within ninety seconds, the gunfight was over. The restaurant was filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder, shattered wine bottles, and the terrified sobs of cowering patrons.

Mateo didn't pause to catch his breath. He turned around, his black eyes sweeping the floor until he spotted me curled up in the corner. He rushed over, dropping to his knees beside me.

"Are you hit?" he asked, his hands moving quickly over my arms and shoulders, checking for blood. For a man known as a ruthless mafia kingpin, his touch was surprisingly gentle.

"I'm... I'm okay," I gasped, my chest heaving. "Leo is safe. He's not hurt."

Mateo looked down at his son. Leo lifted his head, looked at his father, and then immediately pressed his face back into my neck, letting out a soft whimper.

Mateo let out a ragged breath, running a gloved hand through his dark hair. "Luca, secure the perimeter. The police will be here in three minutes. We move now."

"Wait!" I said, trying to hand Leo back to him as I stood up on shaky legs. "I have to stay here. The police... my manager... I work here!"

Mateo took my wrist. His grip wasn't painful, but it was absolute. "Victor saw your face, Mara. He belongs to the Marcone family—our bitterest rivals. They think you are Clara returned from the dead, or a secret heir to the Moretti bloodline. If I leave you here tonight, you will be dead before sunrise."

"I don't have anything to do with your wars!" I cried, tears finally brimming in my eyes. "I'm just a waitress! I have an apartment, I have bills, I have a life!"

"You had a life," Mateo corrected grimly, pulling me toward the rear exit of the restaurant. "Now you have a target on your back. Choose, Mara: come with me and live, or stay here and let Victor’s hitmen cut your throat."

I looked down at Leo. The baby opened his big, dark eyes and reached up, his tiny thumb stroking my cheek.

"God help me," I whispered.

Mateo led us through the kitchen, out into the alleyway where three black, armored SUVs were idling with their engines roaring. Luca opened the door to the middle vehicle, and Mateo ushered me inside before sliding in right beside me.

The heavy doors slammed shut, locking with a thick, mechanical click.

As the SUV accelerated violently down the alley, leaving the flashing red lights of distant police cruisers behind, I looked out the tinted rear window. My quiet, invisible life was burning to ashes behind me.

Mateo pulled a leather-bound notebook and a small silver key from his pocket and handed them to me.

"What is this?" I asked, holding Leo with one arm while staring at the items.

"That key belonged to Clara," Mateo said, his voice dropping into a solemn register as he stared straight ahead into the dark city night. "And that diary was found in her private safe after her death. On the last page, written three days before she died, is a single sentence."

I opened the leather diary with trembling fingers. The final entry, written in delicate, flowing handwriting, read:

"If I do not survive the delivery, find my twin sister in Columbus. Save Mara."

My breath hitched. The entire world seemed to stop spinning.