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

The Valenti estate on Fifth Street was a sinister, sprawling Victorian mansion surrounded by high stone walls and wrought-iron spikes.

As our convoy pulled through the front gates, dozens of armed Valenti guards dressed in tactical gear lined the long driveway, their hands resting ostentatiously on their automatic weapons in an overt display of intimidation.

The cars came to a smooth halt in front of the sweeping marble steps.

Luca stepped out first, adjusting his cuffs, his posture tall, imposing, and completely unfazed by the dozens of weapons pointed in our direction. He walked around to my side of the vehicle, opening the door and extending his arm to me.

I took his arm, stepping out into the chilly rain under a large black umbrella held by Marco.

“Remember,” Luca whispered to me as we walked up the grand entrance steps. “Speak with authority. You are a Moretti. They fear your name more than they admit.”

The massive double front doors swung open, revealing a grand, dimly lit foyer lined with antique oil paintings and crystal chandeliers.

Standing at the top of the double staircase was a tall, gaunt man in his late sixties, wearing a tailored gray suit. His face was weathered, his eyes small, yellowed, and cold like a reptile’s.

Dominic Valenti.

“Ah,” Dominic’s raspy, tobacco-stained voice echoed down the foyer. “The great Luca Moretti has finally arrived.”

Dominic walked slowly down the stairs, flanked by four burly enforcers. His eyes drifted over Luca and landed straight on me, a repulsive, greedy smile creeping across his thin lips.

“And you must be Clara’s little bastard,” Dominic sneered, his eyes scanning my emerald dress and resting on the silver locket around my neck. “Remarkable. You look just like that stubborn bitch.”

Luca’s hand twitched toward his coat, but I placed a firm hand on his forearm, holding him back.

“Mr. Valenti,” I said, my voice smooth, clear, and ringing loudly across the marble foyer. “I suggest you mind your tongue. My mother had twice the honor you will ever possess.”

Dominic blinked in surprise, his sneer faltering for a brief second before he let out a harsh, barking laugh.

“Brave words for a waitress who was wiping down tables twenty-four hours ago,” Dominic chuckled darkly. “Come into the dining room. Let us settle this business before my patience wears thin.”

Dominic turned and led the way into a massive dining room where a long mahogany table was set for dinner. Standing in the corner of the room was an elderly man in a suit holding a thick leather briefcase—Valenti’s private corporate lawyer.

Spread out across the mahogany table were dozens of legal documents, deeds, and land transfer agreements regarding the Moretti Trust.

“Sign the papers, girl,” Dominic commanded, taking a seat at the head of the table and pouring himself a glass of scotch. “Sign over the trust, and I will let you and Luca walk out of here alive tonight. Refuse... and neither of you leaves this room.”

I walked up to the table, staring down at the thick stack of documents.

Luca stood right behind me, his hand resting casually inside his suit jacket.

I reached out, picking up the top document, pretending to read through the dense legal jargon.

“These documents are incomplete, Mr. Valenti,” I said calmly.

Dominic frowned, setting his scotch glass down hard. “What are you talking about?”

“Under the original charter forged by my grandfather in 1985,” I explained, looking straight into Dominic’s cold yellow eyes, “a land trust transfer is invalid without the secondary corporate seal of the holding bank.”

Dominic sneered. “We don't need seals, girl. I have fifty armed men in this house. My signature and yours are all that matters!”

“Actually, Dominic,” Luca’s smooth, icy voice cut through the room, “she’s telling the truth. And more importantly... you forgot to check who owns the holding bank.”

Dominic’s brow furrowed in sudden confusion. “What?”

Luca pulled a sleek black tablet from his coat and tossed it onto the table in front of the old mob boss.

“Ten minutes ago,” Luca announced with a deadly, victorious smile, “the Moretti Syndicate completed the purchase of Valenti Commercial Credit. We now own your mortgages, your debt lines, and every single weapon shipment you financed in New York this morning.”

Dominic’s face went completely, terrifyingly pale. He snatched up the tablet, his hands shaking violently as he scrolled through the financial press release.