SHE SAW HER SISTER IN THE MAFIA BOSS’S BEDROOM… FIVE YEARS LATER, HE FOUND HER WITH TWINS WHO HAD HIS EYES

The morning sun broke through the Maine fog in thin, golden needles, reflecting off the wet pavement of the harbor. Inside the café, the smell of fresh espresso and toasted bagels filled the air, but the tension was thick enough to cut with a bread knife.

Two of Dominic’s top operatives—large men in sharp gray suits named Mateo and Frank—stood guard near the entrance, trying awkwardly to look like customers while keeping their hands near their concealed holsters.

Dominic sat at a back table, reviewing files on an encrypted tablet. Clara brought him a mug of black coffee, placing it down with a heavy sigh.

"They're terrified of your men," Clara whispered, nodding toward the front window where a few local regulars were peering in nervously. "This is a quiet fishing town, Dominic. People here help each other. They don't have men with ear pieces standing outside the grocery store."

"They'll get used to it until I ensure this threat is neutralized," Dominic said smoothly, taking a sip of the dark roast. "Your coffee is still the best I've ever had."

Clara couldn't stop the faint smile that touched her lips, though it faded quickly. "You can't keep us in a cage, Dominic. The kids have preschool. I have deliveries to make."

"You aren't making any deliveries today," Dominic commanded sternly. "My men intercepted three phone calls originating from a burner cell in Portland last night. Elena’s syndicate knows I’m in Maine. They don't know the exact address yet, but it’s only a matter of hours."

"Why now?" Clara asked, sitting down across from him, her hands trembling around her apron. "Why after five years?"

"Because five years ago, I crippled her family's organization," Dominic explained, his eyes darkening. "Old Don Vincenzo—Elena's father—died six months ago. His son, Lorenzo, took over. Lorenzo wants revenge, and he wants control of the Boston shipping docks. He knows he can't beat me in a direct war, so he’s looking for leverage. He thinks if he captures you and the children, I’ll hand over the Romano territory."

Clara felt a wave of icy nausea wash over her. "They'd hurt Noah and Lily?"

"Over my dead body," Dominic said, his voice dropping into a register so lethal it made the air in the room feel heavy. He reached across the table and gripped her hand tightly. "I failed you five years ago by letting Elena poison your mind. I will burn the entire Eastern seaboard to ashes before I let anyone touch a single hair on your heads again."

At that moment, the door to the café opened. The bell chimed softly.

Mateo and Frank immediately shifted their stances, hands sliding beneath their jackets.

A tall man in a navy blue parka stepped inside, shaking the dampness off his shoulders. He was in his late thirties, with a friendly, sun-weathered face and clear blue eyes. It was Mark, the local harbor master and Clara’s closest friend in town.

"Hey, Clara," Mark said, his eyes scanning the two large guards before settling on Dominic. He frowned slightly. "Everything okay here? I saw the dark SUVs parked outside. Thought you might need a hand."

Clara quickly stood up. "Mark! Hi. No, everything's fine. This is... this is Dominic."

Mark walked over, extending a hand to Dominic with a cautious expression. "Dominic. I don't think I've seen you around Harbor Light before."

Dominic stood slowly, matching the man's height. He looked at Mark’s hand, then took it with a firm, unyielding grip. "I'm the father of Clara’s children."

Mark blinked, taken aback. He glanced at Clara, who looked down at the floor, then back at Dominic. The atmospheric shift in the room was immediate—a quiet, territorial clash between two men.

"I see," Mark said slowly, releasing Dominic's hand. "Clara never mentioned you were coming."

"Neither did I," Dominic replied, his voice smooth as silk and cold as ice. "I had to handle some unfinished business. But I am back now. Permanently."

Mark held Dominic’s gaze for three long seconds before turning back to Clara. "If you need anything, Clara—anything at all—my boat is at pier four. You know where to find me."

"Thank you, Mark," Clara murmured.

As Mark walked out, Dominic turned to Clara, his jaw tight. "Who is he?"

"He's a friend," Clara said defensively. "He helped me repair the café roof last winter. He brought the kids fish chips when Noah had the flu. He's a good man."

"He looks at you like he wants to be more than a friend," Dominic said, a sharp edge of jealousy cutting through his words.

"Well, for five years, I was completely alone!" Clara snapped back, leaning over the table. "I didn't have a billionaire mob boss shielding me! I had neighbors who cared whether my kids froze in the winter! Don't you dare come in here and judge the people who kept us alive while you were playing godfather in Boston!"

Dominic took the strike silently. The jaw line worked as he fought down his possessive instincts. He took a slow breath, bowed his head, and looked up at her with genuine humility.

"You're right," Dominic said quietly. "I'm sorry. I owe him—and everyone in this town—a debt for keeping you safe when I wasn't here to do it."

Before Clara could respond, Mateo stepped forward quickly, his phone pressed to his ear. "Boss. We have a problem."