The Exhausted Waitress Could Barely Stand—Then the Mafia Boss Changed Her Life

At 11:00 AM, a fleet of three black Escalades pulled up to the grand entrance of the Fairmont Olympic Hotel in downtown Seattle.

I sat in the middle vehicle, wearing a sharp, tailored cream-colored suit that Luca’s stylists had brought to the estate, my hair pulled back into an elegant knot. Beside me sat Luca, impeccably dressed, a lethal composure radiating from his frame.

Emma was safe back at the Mercer Island estate, guarded by twenty heavily armed men and Mrs. Chen.

"Stay behind me at all times," Luca commanded softly as Dante opened the vehicle door. "Frankie Moretti is an arrogant idiot, but he is unpredictable when backed into a corner."

"I'm not afraid of them, Luca," I said, holding his dark gaze. "Not anymore."

A rare, proud smile touched the corner of his lips. "I know you aren't, Ava."

We entered the luxurious penthouse suite on the top floor of the Fairmont.

Standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the misty harbor were five men. One of them was a slick, thirty-something man in a flashy blue designer suit—Frankie Moretti. Beside him stood a sleazy lawyer holding a briefcase.

And cowering near the bar, holding a glass of scotch with trembling hands, was Jake.

Jake looked terrible. His skin was sallow, his eyes sunken and bloodshot, his clothes wrinkled. He looked like a man who had been running from his own shadow for eighteen months.

When the heavy doors burst open and Luca Castellano walked into the room flanked by six towering bodyguards, Jake nearly dropped his glass.

"Castellano," Frankie Moretti sneered, stepping forward, his hands in his pockets. "You're in the wrong hotel, Don Luca. This is Chicago business."

"Nothing in Seattle is Chicago business, Frankie," Luca said calmly, walking toward the center of the room. "You took a breath of my air the moment your plane landed at Sea-Tac. And now you're wasting it."

Frankie laughed nervously, gesturing to his lawyer. "We have a court order signed by Judge Vance. Jake Martinez is executing his legal paternal rights over his daughter, Emma Carter. The mother is unfit—a broke waitress living in a squalid basement. We are taking the child back to Chicago today."

Jake finally looked up, his bloodshot eyes catching mine. "Ava... look, it's not what you think. I'm doing this for us. We get the money, we can start over—"

"Shut your mouth, Jake," I said, my voice dripping with pure, concentrated disgust. "You sold our daughter to a mob family to pay off your gambling debts. You are a pathetic, sniveling coward."

Jake flinched as if I had slapped him.

Frankie Moretti snapped his fingers. "It doesn't matter what she thinks. The law is on our side."

"Judge Vance was arrested by federal agents forty minutes ago for taking bribes from your father," Luca stated smoothly, pulling a crisp sheet of paper from his coat and tossing it onto the glass table. "The custody order has been rescinded. And Vance is currently singing to the U.S. Attorney about every illegal account Moretti holds in Washington."

Frankie's face drained of color. "You... you bribed the Feds?"

"I didn't have to bribe anyone," Luca smiled darkly. "I simply gave them the truth. Something your family has never understood."

Frankie's hand drifted toward his coat lining.

Before he could move an inch, six red laser dots appeared instantly on Frankie's chest, glowing brightly through the window from snipers positioned on the adjacent skyscraper.

"Make a move, Frankie," Luca whispered, stepping up until his chest was inches from Frankie's face. "Give me an excuse to send your body back to your father in a wooden crate."

Frankie froze, sweating profusely, his hands flying up in surrender.

Luca turned his gaze to Jake, who was practically shaking against the bar.