The Mafia Boss’s Baby Wouldn’t Stop Reaching for the Waitress—Then His Father Asked, “Would You Hold Him?”

The bullet tore through the air where my head had been a fraction of a second earlier, shattering the expensive bottle of Barolo on Table Twelve into a spray of dark red glass.

I didn't even have time to scream.

Luca moved with terrifying, predatory speed. He lunged forward, wrapping his massive arms around both me and Leo, tackling us to the hardwood floor. His heavy body covered mine entirely, shielding the baby pressed tightly between us.

Above us, the restaurant erupted into pure chaos.

Women shrieked. Tables flipped. Expensive china shattered against the floorboards.

The older man with Luca—Silas—didn't flinch. He drew his weapon in a blur of motion and fired twice. The deafening roar of his unsilenced gun echoed through the dining room.

I heard a heavy thud as the man in the trench coat hit the floor.

“Move!” Luca roared against my ear.

He grabbed my elbow, dragging me to my feet. Leo was screaming now, a terrified, high-pitched wail that tore at my heart. I clutched the baby to my chest, curling my body over his as Luca pushed me toward the kitchen doors.

“Kitchen’s clear, boss!” Silas shouted, covering our retreat, his eyes scanning the panicked crowd for a second shooter.

We burst through the swinging metal doors. The kitchen staff had already scattered, abandoning pans of sizzling veal and boiling pasta. The air was thick with the smell of scorched butter and fear.

Luca didn't stop. He kicked the heavy steel delivery door open, shoving me out into the freezing, rain-slicked alleyway behind the restaurant.

The cold Philadelphia air hit my lungs like shattered glass.

Luca pinned me against the damp brick wall, his massive frame shielding me from the open street. He checked Leo, running a frantic hand over his son’s back to ensure the baby wasn't hit, before his dark eyes locked onto mine.

“Who was that?” Luca demanded, his voice a low, lethal growl.

“I don't know!” I sobbed, trembling so violently my teeth chattered.

“He knew your name, Avery! He said you should have died in the crash. That wasn't a hit on me. That was a hit on you.”

I shook my head, my mind spinning. “I’m a waitress! I have forty-three dollars in my bank account. Nobody wants to kill me!”

Silas burst out of the kitchen door, his weapon still drawn. He looked at Luca, his face grim. “Shooter is dead. No ID on him. But he had this.”

Silas held up a small object, his large hand illuminated by the flickering yellow light of the alleyway bulb.

It was a braided leather bracelet with a distinct, heavy silver clasp shaped like an anchor.

My stomach plummeted. The alleyway spun. I felt bile rise in the back of my throat.

“Avery?” Luca noticed my reaction instantly. He stepped closer, his thumb tilting my chin up. “Tell me.”

“That’s David’s,” I whispered, the name tasting like ash on my tongue.

“Who the hell is David?” Silas barked.

“My ex-fiancé,” I choked out, tears mixing with the icy rain on my face. “He’s a detective with the Philly PD. I left him a year ago. That’s why I ran from the crash that night. My license was expired, and if the cops ran my name, David would have found out where I was.”

Luca went completely still. The terrifying mob boss vanished, replaced by a calculating apex predator analyzing a new threat.

“A cop,” Luca said softly. “Your ex-fiancé sent a hitman to kill you.”

“But why?” I cried. “I haven't spoken to him in twelve months! I changed my number. I moved across the city. I’ve been hiding!”

“Where is your car?” Luca asked, completely ignoring my panic.

“What? Why?”

“Where is your car, Avery?” he barked.

“Lot B. Across the street. The blue sedan.”

Luca grabbed my hand, his grip warm and unyielding. “Silas, pull the SUV around. Now.”

We practically ran across the dark street. My cheap blue sedan was parked under a flickering streetlight. I fumbled in my apron pocket for my keys, my hands shaking so badly I dropped them onto the wet pavement.

Before I could pick them up, Luca dropped to one knee in a puddle of muddy water. He didn't look at the doors. He reached directly beneath the rear driver’s side wheel well, his fingers running along the rusted metal frame.

I stared at him, confused. “What are you doing?”

“You said you’ve been hiding,” Luca muttered, his arm buried up to the elbow under my car. “But he found you tonight. Exactly when you started your shift.”

A sickening memory flashed in my mind.

My car makes a clicking sound every time I turn left.

Luca’s hand ripped something violently away from the undercarriage. He stood up, holding a small, black plastic square about the size of a matchbox. A tiny red light blinked on its surface.

It wasn't a mechanical issue.

It was a GPS tracker.

Luca threw the device onto the pavement and crushed it beneath the heel of his expensive Italian shoe, grinding it into plastic dust.

He looked up at me, the rain plastering his dark hair to his forehead.

“He didn't just find you tonight, Avery,” Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “He’s known exactly where you are every second of every day since you left him.”

Before I could process the absolute horror of his words, a massive, black armored SUV roared around the corner, its tires squealing against the wet asphalt. The back door swung open, and Silas yelled for us to get in.

I hesitated, looking back toward the restaurant. My life, my job, my tiny, safe apartment—all of it was gone.

Luca didn't give me time to argue. He placed a heavy, protective hand against the small of my back and guided me into the vehicle.

As the door slammed shut plunging us into the dark leather interior, my phone buzzed in my apron pocket.

I pulled it out with shaking hands.

It was a text message from an unknown number.