New The two-month-old son of Long Island’s most feared mafia boss was starving to death because his body rejected every bottle, every formula, and every donor milk the doctors tried

The aftermath of the attack was swift and brutal. Within three hours, a clean-up crew had erased every trace of blood and bullet holes from the estate. The Moretti family had made a fatal mistake: they had shown their hand, believing Lorenzo was weakened by the death of his wife and the failing health of his heir.

They didn't know that Lorenzo Rossi was no longer protecting a dying baby. He was protecting a mother and a child who had given him a reason to burn the world.

By noon the following day, Lorenzo had summoned the heads of the Five Families to a neutral location in Manhattan—a private room at the top of the St. Regis Hotel.

Against his guards' advice, Lorenzo insisted that I accompany him.

"They need to see you," Lorenzo told me as we sat in the back of his armored Maybach, flanked by four security SUVs. "They need to know that the Rossi family has a new foundation. In our world, weakness invites war. Strength commands peace."

"I'm a maid, Lorenzo," I said nervously, looking down at the elegant black silk dress his tailors had fitted me with that morning. "I don't belong in a room with mafia bosses."

Lorenzo reached across the leather seat and grabbed my hand. His touch was warm, his thumb lightly stroking my knuckles.

"You saved my heir," he said softly, looking directly into my eyes. "You stood in a safe room with a gun ready to die for him. You have more courage than half the men sitting at that table. You are not a maid, Hunter. You are the mother of the future Don."

My heart did a strange, fluttering flip at his words. Over the last forty-eight hours, the boundaries between us had blurred. He was no longer just my terrifying employer, and I was no longer his servant. We were bound together by blood, secrets, and a child who was currently sleeping peacefully in a custom car seat between us.

When we arrived at the St. Regis, the room was filled with older, stern-looking men surrounded by heavy security. Among them was Antonio Moretti, the head of the rival family—a man with cold grey eyes and a ruthless reputation.

When Lorenzo walked into the room, holding my hand in his left while his right remained inside his jacket, a heavy silence fell over the room.

"Lorenzo," Antonio Moretti sneered, leaning back in his chair. "We heard rumors your house was attacked last night. And we heard your son was near death. Is this woman here to carry his casket?"

Lorenzo didn't speak. He walked to the head of the table, pulled out a leather chair for me, and waited until I was seated. Then he stood behind me, resting his hands heavily on my shoulders.

"Antonio," Lorenzo said, his voice echoing with terrifying calm. "Last night, twelve men breached my home. They were sent by you to kill my child."

"You have no proof—" Moretti began, rising from his chair.

Lorenzo pulled a heavy velvet bag from his coat and tossed it onto the center of the mahogany table. It hit the surface with a sickening thud, rolling open to reveal several encrypted phones and tactical radios bearing the Moretti crest.

"I don't need proof for a trial, Antonio," Lorenzo said coldly. "This isn't a court of law. This is a notification."

The other bosses in the room shifted uncomfortably, exchanging tense glances.

"My son is not dying," Lorenzo continued, his fingers gently tightening on my shoulders, giving me a sense of absolute security. "He is thriving. Because his mother—Hunter—is alive, and she has taken her rightful place by my side."

Antonio Moretti gasped, his eyes shifting to me in shock. "Mother? Sophia is dead! Who is this girl?"

"She is the woman whose child you tried to murder," Lorenzo declared, his voice ringing through the hall like a death sentence. "And as of today, any act of war against her, or against Alexander Rossi, is an act of war against every territory under the Rossi flag."

Lorenzo reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy gold ring bearing the seal of his family—a crest that had ruled the underworld for three generations. He took my left hand, and right in front of the most powerful men in New York, he slid the ring onto my ring finger.

The entire room went dead silent.

"You're marrying her?" Moretti whispered, horrified.

"She is already my wife in every way that matters," Lorenzo said softly, looking down at me with an intensity that made my breath catch. "And to prove my devotion to her... I am executing the man who allowed your poison into the hospital."

Lorenzo nodded toward the double doors. Two guards dragged a man into the room, bound in chains. It was the doctor from St. Jude’s—the man who had stolen my baby three weeks ago and told me he was dead.

"Hunter," Lorenzo whispered in my ear, his breath warm against my skin. "He took your child from you. He caused you three weeks of agony. Sentence him."

I looked at the doctor trembling on the floor. He raised his eyes to me, begging for mercy. Three weeks ago, I was a helpless woman weeping in a cold hospital bed, powerless against the cruelty of the world. Now, I held the power of life and death in my hands.

I looked at Lorenzo, then back at the doctor.

"Take him away," I said, my voice steady and firm. "Lock him in a cell where he will never see the sun again. Death is too quick for what he did to my family."