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

The first time the Mafia boss’s baby reached for me, I thought he wanted the silver necklace around my throat. The second time, I realized he wanted me—and by the third, his father had stopped looking irritated and started looking genuinely afraid.

That was probably the moment I should have walked away. Instead, I stood beside Table Twelve with a wine list pressed against my ribs and let a ten-month-old boy change everything I thought I understood about my life.

Friday nights at Aurelia were always chaotic. It was one of those expensive Philadelphia restaurants where butter came shaped like roses and men who owned entire buildings complained if their sparkling water was two degrees too warm. I had worked there for eleven months—long enough to know who tipped twenty percent, who snapped their fingers at servers, and who talked about me as if I weren’t standing three feet away.

At twenty-seven, I had become very good at disappearing while remaining useful. Smile. Pour. Apologize. Collect the check. Repeat. Rent was due Monday, my car made a clicking sound every time I turned left, and I had forty-three dollars in my checking account.

Those were ordinary problems.

Then the front doors opened at 8:17 p.m. A strange silence moved across the restaurant before I even looked up. Our bartender stopped polishing a glass. My manager, Greg, abandoned a wealthy couple in the middle of a sentence, and one man near the entrance actually lowered his eyes.

Two broad-shouldered men in dark suits entered first, evaluating everything: doors, windows, kitchen, restrooms, people.

Then Luca Moretti walked in carrying a baby.

Everybody in Philadelphia knew that name. People said Luca owned freight companies, nightclubs, apartment buildings, and enough legitimate businesses to require several accounting firms. People also whispered about the things he owned that never appeared on tax returns. I had never cared enough to separate rumor from truth. Men like Luca Moretti existed in another world—until he sat in mine.

He was perhaps thirty-eight, tall, dark-haired, with light stubble and a scar running from his right cheek toward his ear. His charcoal suit fit perfectly, his tie was loosened, black ink disappeared beneath his collar, and a geometric tattoo circled one wrist. But the baby in his arms was rubbing a sleepy fist against one eye.

That contrast almost made me smile. Dangerous man. Tiny blue sock.

Greg appeared beside me. “Table Twelve.”

“You’re joking.”

“I have never been less funny. Avery, do not improvise. Do not joke. Do not ask personal questions.”

Naturally, I walked over and immediately broke one of those rules. “What can I bring you to drink?”

“Mineral water. Barolo for the table,” Luca said, glancing down. “And warm milk for him.”

“Coming right up.”

The child froze. His gray-blue eyes locked onto mine, and both hands lifted toward me.

At first, I assumed he wanted my necklace. But he leaned harder, desperately, his fingers opening and closing as a broken little sound escaped his throat.

“Hey there,” I whispered.

The baby lunged. Luca caught him beneath the arms. “Leo.”

Leo whimpered, then began to cry—not ordinary crying, but heartbroken, panicked crying. Every time Luca pulled him back, Leo reached for me again.

“I’m sorry,” Luca muttered.

“It’s okay. He’s tired. Clearly I have that effect on men.”

The words escaped before I remembered who I was talking to. One of Luca’s men hid a smile. Luca stared at me, then one corner of his mouth moved. “You joke when you’re nervous.”

“I joke constantly, so that’s probably concerning.”

Leo screamed louder. I crouched until my face was level with his. “Hey.”

He stopped instantly. One ragged breath escaped him, then silence. Leo touched my cheek. Luca went completely still. Behind him, an older guard whispered, “Jesus.”

“What?” I asked.

Nobody answered. I started to stand, but Leo grabbed my apron. The crying returned immediately.

Luca looked at my name tag. “Avery.”