The first time the mafia boss’s baby reached for me, I thought he wanted the silver necklace around my throat.

The house erupted into controlled chaos.

Far down the long hallway, heavy boot steps pounded against the hardwood floors. Shouts in Italian and English ricocheted off the marble downstairs, followed by the dull, rhythmic *thwack-thwack-thwack* of suppressed gunfire cutting through the rainy night.

Leo stirred against my chest, his small face contorting as the vibrations shook the room.

"Shh, baby, I'm here," I whispered, my heart slamming against my ribs like a caged bird. Adrenaline flooded my veins, making my teeth chatter.

*Stay away from the glass,* Luca had said.

I slid out of the rocking chair, keeping Leo locked in my left arm while using my right hand to brace against the wall. The master nursery opened into an ensuite bathroom with no exterior windows. Moving as quickly and quietly as I could, I slipped inside, pulled the heavy oak door shut until it clicked, and sat down on the tiled floor inside the large marble shower stall.

I pulled Leo tight against me, curling my body over his like a shell.

Outside the bathroom, the bedroom door flew open with a violent crash.

"Check the crib!" a rough, unfamiliar voice barked.

My breath stopped entirely. My hand clamped gently over Leo’s mouth, just enough to muffle any sound he might make.

"Empty!" another voice shouted. "The kid’s not here! Find the girl!"

Footsteps approached the bathroom door. The brass handle rattled.

*God, please. Please.*

Suddenly, the air split with a deafening roar. Two heavy concussive blasts ripped through the nursery outside. The sound of wood splintering and a man screaming in agony vibrated through the bathroom door. Another shot followed—dry, precise, final.

Then came the sound of a heavy body hitting the floor with a wet thud.

Silence fell, thick and poisonous.

I sat frozen on the bathroom tiles, Leo trembling in my grip, his wide blue eyes staring up at me in the dark, tears streaming down his cheeks. He wasn't crying out loud; he seemed to understand that breathing too loudly meant death.

The bathroom doorknob turned slowly.

The door swung inward.

Luca stood in the frame, backlit by the nursery lamps. His face was spattered with dark crimson droplets. A smoking pistol hung loosely in his right hand, his knuckles bloody. His eyes were wide, wild, searching the room with feral desperation until they landed on me huddled in the corner of the shower.

The breath left him in a harsh, ragged gasp. He holstered the gun with trembling hands and crossed the bathroom in three strides, dropping to his knees on the cold tile.

"Avery," he breathed, his hands hovering over me, checking my arms, my face, my neck for blood. "Are you hit? Did they touch you?"

"We're fine," I managed to choke out, though my voice sounded hollow and distant. "We're okay. Leo’s okay."

Luca reached out, his massive, blood-flecked hands pulling both of us against his chest. He pulled us in so tight I could feel the violent hammer of his heart through his ruined shirt. He buried his face in Leo’s blond hair, inhaling deeply, his broad shoulders shaking with a single, silent tremor before he mastered himself.

"You hid him," Luca whispered against my hair, his voice raw. "You didn't run. You shielded him."

"Of course I did," I sobbed, the shock finally breaking through my defenses. "He's just a baby, Luca. What kind of monster comes for a baby?"

"The kind who won't live to see sunrise," Luca said, and the terrifying coldness in his tone made the temperature in the room plunge.

He pulled back, his dark eyes burning into mine with an intensity that took my breath away. He reached up, his thumb brushing away a tear that had spilled down my cheek, leaving a faint smear of someone else's blood on my skin. He noticed it immediately, his expression contorting with self-loathing.

"I brought this into your life," he said quietly. "I offered you money to save my son, and I nearly got you killed within six hours."

"Who were they?"

"Matteo Castiglione’s men," Luca answered, standing and extending both hands to help me up. His grip was steady now, solid as iron. "They thought my grief made me weak. They thought taking Leo would force me to surrender the port terminals."

He looked at his son, who reached out a tiny, hesitant hand and touched his father’s cheek, wiping away a speck of red. Luca closed his eyes, leaning into the infant's touch, a look of profound, agonizing love washing over his scarred face.

"They made a fatal mistake," Luca whispered.

He opened his eyes and looked at me. "The contract is off, Avery. I’m having Mario take you to a safe hotel. The money will be wired to your account by eight a.m. Take your brother and leave Philadelphia."

I looked down at Leo. The moment Luca took a step back, the boy’s lower lip trembled, and his little hands clamped onto my shirt again with desperate strength.

"He needs you," Luca said, his voice cracking. "But you don't deserve this hell."

I took a deep breath, looking past Luca into the ruined nursery, where two men lay dead because of the blood that ran through this infant's veins. I was terrified. Every instinct screamed at me to run, to take the fifty thousand dollars and disappear.

Then Leo rested his forehead against my collarbone, letting out a small, trusting sigh.

"Double the salary," I said.

Luca froze, his eyes narrowing in shock. "What?"

"Double it," I said, lifting my chin, refusing to let him see the terror still buzzing through my limbs. "And I want a gun. And someone to teach me how to shoot it."

For the first time since I met him, Luca Moretti looked completely at a loss for words. Then, slowly, a dark, dangerous, intoxicating smile spread across his face.