The Mafia Boss’s Baby Wouldn’t Stop Reaching for Me—The Secret Behind It Tore My Whole Life Apart

I held the mafia king’s son in the middle of the crowded restaurant for exactly four minutes. It felt like four hours. Leo’s breathing slowed, his small body relaxing entirely against my chest as if he had finally found something he had been desperately searching for.

When Dante finally reached out to take him back, Leo let out a small whimper, his tiny fingers clinging stubbornly to my cheap necklace. I had to gently pry his hand open, my skin brushing against Dante’s in the process. A shock of static electricity leaped between us, hot and startling. Dante didn't flinch, but his dark eyes flared with an intense, unreadable emotion.

"Bring the wine," Dante ordered quietly, settling the baby back against his tailored suit. "And the milk."

I spent the rest of the evening serving table seven with trembling hands. Dante didn't speak to me again. He conducted his business meeting in hushed, lethal tones with the two men across from him, while Leo slept peacefully against his chest.

When they finally stood to leave, the restaurant seemed to exhale. Dante didn't wait for the check. He dropped a heavy leather money clip directly onto the white tablecloth and walked out into the Chicago rain without looking back.

Mr. Carrillo practically materialized beside me the moment the door closed. He snatched the money clip, counting the hundred-dollar bills with wide eyes.

"Five thousand dollars," my manager breathed, his face pale. He looked at me, handing over the cash and a sleek, matte-black business card that had been tucked inside the clip. "He left this for you. Whatever you did, Alina, you better hope it doesn't get you killed."

I looked down at the card. There was no company name, no logo. Just a single phone number embossed in silver, and three words written in sharp, aggressive handwriting on the back: