A Mafia Boss Ordered Me To Hold His Crying Son When No One Else Could—Then He Looked At My Face And Whispered His Dead Wife’s Name

The gunfire started before we even reached the second-floor landing.

The sharp, rhythmic pop-pop-pop of automatic rifles shattered the quiet night, accompanied by the explosive sound of heavy glass doors being blown off their hinges in the grand foyer downstairs.

"Matteo!" I screamed, panic surging through my veins like liquid fire.

"Go to the nursery! Lock the steel vault door from the inside and do not open it for anyone but me!" Dante commanded, pushing me toward the corridor while racking the slide of his weapon with lethal efficiency.

I didn't hesitate. I sprinted barefoot down the carpeted hallway toward the nursery, my heart in my throat.

Inside the room, Matteo was already screaming in terror, standing up in his wooden crib, his little hands gripping the rails as the house shook from an explosion downstairs.

"I’m here, baby! I'm here!" I cried, scooping him into my arms and wrapping him tightly against my chest.

Before I could reach the heavy reinforced steel panic door behind the wardrobe, the French windows leading out to the second-floor balcony shattered inward in a shower of deadly glass shards.

A man dressed in black tactical gear and a ballistic mask vaulted through the broken window, raising a suppressed submachine gun directly at Matteo and me.

"Drop the kid, bitch," the assassin snarled in a thick Russian accent.

Pure adrenaline erased every shred of fear in my body. Shielding Matteo with my entire torso, I grabbed a heavy bronze table lamp from the nightstand and hurled it with all my strength straight into the man's face.

The lamp struck his mask, throwing off his aim just as he pulled the trigger. A burst of rounds tore through the drywall inches above my head.

The assassin cursed, stepping forward to grab my hair—

BANG. BANG.

Two deafening gunshots echoed through the room.

The assassin stiffened, two neat holes appearing in the center of his chest before he collapsed face-first onto the shattered glass, lifeless.

Dante stood in the doorway of the nursery, smoke drifting from the barrel of his handgun. His face was a mask of pure demonic rage.

"Elina! Are you hit?" Dante barked, rushing across the room and scanning Matteo and me with frantic eyes.

"We're okay! We're fine!" I gasped, trembling violently as Matteo sobbed into my shoulder. "Dante, your arm!"

A dark crimson stain was rapidly spreading across the right sleeve of his black shirt. A bullet had grazed his bicep, tearing through the muscle.

"It's nothing," Dante grunted, grabbing my arm and pulling both of us out of the nursery into the secure panic vault behind the master closet.

He slammed the six-inch solid titanium door shut, engaging the electronic magnetic locks with a heavy thud.

The sound of gunfire outside the vault gradually faded as Dante’s security forces systematically eliminated the remaining intruders. Inside the soundproof bunker, the only sounds were Matteo’s soft sniffling and Dante’s heavy, ragged breathing.

"Sit down," I ordered, my maternal instincts overriding my fear.

"Elina, I'm fine—"

"I said sit down, Dante Moretti!" I snapped, pointing to a steel bench against the wall.

Dante blinked in mild shock at my tone, but complied, sitting down on the bench.

I set Matteo down on a soft rug with a wooden toy, then grabbed the military-grade first aid kit mounted on the wall. Ripping open Dante’s torn sleeve, I inspected the wound. The bullet had taken a clean gouge out of his flesh, bleeding profusely but missing the artery.

Pouring antiseptic over the open wound, I watched Dante’s jaw clench tightly, a muscle jumping in his cheek, but he didn't make a single sound.

"You threw a lamp at a trained Russian mercenary," Dante said quietly, his dark eyes studying my face with a mixture of disbelief and reverence. "You shielded my son with your own body."

"He is my nephew," I replied, wrapping a sterile gauze bandage tightly around his arm. "And I would die before I let anyone hurt him."

Dante reached up with his uninjured hand, gently catching my chin between his fingers, forcing me to meet his burning gaze.

"You will never have to die for him, Elina," Dante swore, his thumb caressing my cheek. "Because as long as I have breath in my body, no one will ever touch you again."

The proximity between us was suffocating. I could see the golden flecks in his dark eyes, the fine lines of strain around his mouth, the raw, unfiltered possessiveness rolling off him in waves.

"Dante..." I whispered.

"Tell me to stop, Elina," he rasped, leaning in until his forehead rested against mine. "Tell me right now, because if you don't, I will never let you go."