40 My maid’s eight-month-old baby crawled into my office while my enforcer was holding a gun on a traitor, but instead of reacting like the ruthless Mafia Boss everyone feared, I dropped to my knees and cried. The baby had the same eyes, dark curls, and face as the son I had buried three years earlier.

"Don't ask me that," Elena whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the air conditioner.

I didn't move. I remained on my knees on the shattered glass-littered Persian rug, clutching eight-month-old Leo to my chest. The crescent-shaped birthmark beneath his left ear burned into my vision like a branding iron.

Three years ago, I had held a tiny, lifeless shoe in my hands after a car crash burned my wife and three-year-old son, Mateo, into ash. The doctors told me the fire had been too intense. The police said the remains were unidentifiable. They gave me a sealed mahogany box and told me to bury my heart inside it.

I did. And on that rainy Tuesday at St. Jude’s cemetery, Julian Moretti died, replaced by the monster sitting behind the mahogany desk—a boss who executed traitors without blinking, who expanded the Moretti syndicate through blood and extortion.

"Dominic," I said, my voice dead, flat, and hollowed of all human emotion.

My chief enforcer stepped forward instantly, his weapon still lowered, though his eyes darted nervously between me, the baby, and the weeping woman cowering in the doorway. "Boss?"

"Take Lorenzo to the sub-basement," I commanded, never taking my eyes off Elena. "Lock him in the vault. He lives... for now."

Lorenzo, bleeding from his mouth, looked up in pure shock. He had been seconds away from a bullet to the back of his skull for embezzling syndicate funds. "Boss—thank you, Boss—"

"Get him out of my sight before I change my mind," I barked.

Dominic grabbed Lorenzo by the collar, dragging him out of the room like a sack of dead weight. The heavy oak doors clicked shut, leaving only the crackle of broken glass under my shoes, the soft breathing of the baby in my arms, and the ragged sobs of my maid.

I stood up slowly, cradling Leo against my shoulder. He reached up, his tiny fingers tangling in my silver-streaked hair, letting out a soft, joyful babble. He didn't know he was in the lair of a wolf. He only knew warmth.

"You brought him into my house six months ago," I said, stepping toward Elena. She flinched, pressing her back against the door frame as if trying to merge with the wood. "You applied for the housekeeping job through a ghost agency in Chicago. You took minimum wage. You lived in the service quarters behind the kitchen, working sixteen-hour days, never asking for a raise, never making a sound."

"Mr. Moretti, please," she wept, wringing her apron. "I'll leave. I'll take Leo and leave New York tonight. You'll never see us again!"

"Look at me, Elena!" I roared.

She flinched, her dark eyes brimming with absolute terror.

"My son died three years ago," I said, my chest heaving, tears hot and bitter burning the corners of my eyes. "I buried him. I spent three years drowning in bourbon, burning rival warehouses, killing men just to feel something other than the cold hole in my chest! And today, a child walks into my office with my son's eyes, my son's hair, and a birthmark that only one in a million children carry."

I took another step, stopping inches from her face. I reached out with my free hand, grabbing her jaw gently but firmly, forcing her to look up.

"Who gave you this baby, Elena?"

She swallowed hard, her body trembling so violently I thought she would collapse. "I... I adopted him. In Mexico. A clinic—"

"Liar," I whispered.

I turned around, walked to my desk, and pressed the intercom button. "Vance."

Within three seconds, my cyber intelligence specialist answered. "Yes, Boss?"

"Run a full biometric scan on the child in my office. Compare his facial structure, dental projections, and DNA markers against the private hospital records of Mateo Moretti from four years ago. I want a swab result in twenty minutes."

"Mr. Moretti, no!" Elena screamed, throwing herself at my feet, grabbing the hem of my trousers just as Leo had done moments earlier. "Don't do the test! If they find out... if he finds out, we're all dead!"

My blood ran cold. I dropped to one knee, keeping Leo secure in my left arm while my right hand clamped onto Elena’s shoulder.