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

The request hung in the air, heavy and impossible. A crowded fine-dining restaurant in downtown Philadelphia was watching us, but for three seconds, the only two people who mattered were a terrifying man and a sobbing infant.

I looked at Greg, who was standing near the bus station looking as though he might faint into a basket of artisanal bread. Then I looked down at Leo’s tear-stained face.

I reached out.

The moment my arms slipped around the baby’s tiny frame, he collapsed against my chest like a marionette with its strings cut. He let out a deep, shuddering sigh, buried his face into the soft crook of my neck, and wrapped his small, warm hand around the silver necklace I wore.

The restaurant seemed to hold its breath.

Luca slowly stood up from the leather booth. He was tall—at least six-foot-two—and up close, the scent of expensive cedarwood, leather, and rain clung to him. But he wasn't looking at me like a mob boss. He was looking at his son with an expression so tender and terrified it stopped my heart.

“He hasn’t slept in two days,” Luca said softly, his deep voice carrying a gravelly edge. “He hasn’t let anyone hold him since… since last week.”

“He’s exhausted,” I whispered, resting a supportive hand against Leo’s tiny back. “And he’s scared.”

“He doesn't like strangers,” Marco, the older guard standing behind Luca, interjected quietly. “He bites strangers. He bit the pediatrician on Tuesday.”

Leo let out a quiet snore against my collarbone. His grip on my necklace relaxed, but his small thumb remained hitched over the chain.

Luca stared at the sight, his jaw tight. The light stubble along his jawline twitched. “What did you say your name was?”

“Avery. Avery Vance.”

Luca reached into his inner suit jacket. For a split second, my pulse spiked, but he didn't pull out a weapon. He pulled out a leather wallet, withdrew a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, and set them quietly on the white tablecloth beside his untouched silverware.

“I’m buying out your shift,” Luca said flatly.

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re coming with us.”

“Mr. Moretti,” I said, stepping back slightly, though Leo whimpered at the movement. “I’m a waitress. I have four other tables, my shift ends at eleven, and I don't get into cars with powerful men I met five minutes ago.”

Luca didn't look angry at my refusal. If anything, a sharp flash of respect flickered in his dark eyes.

“My house is twenty minutes away in Chestnut Hill,” Luca said, his tone turning crisp, authoritative, yet strangely pleading. “He will wake up the second you hand him back to me. My nanny quit yesterday, my mother is in Florida, and I haven't slept more than two hours a night in a month. I will pay you five thousand dollars just to sit in his nursery until he sleeps through the night.”

Five thousand dollars. That was my rent for three months. That was my car repaired. That was food in my fridge for a year.

I looked at Leo’s peaceful face resting against my throat, then up at Luca’s exhausted, guarded eyes.