A Toddler Told the Billionaire Mafia Boss Her Mommy Needed a Boyfriend, but the Promise He Made at a Dying Woman’s Wedding Changed His Empire Forever

While peace settled over the Pennsylvania farmhouse, dark clouds were gathering three hundred miles away in Manhattan.

Inside a dimly lit private room of a high-end restaurant in Brooklyn, Marco Bellini sat across from a broad, heavy-set man with silver hair and a diamond ring on his pinky finger: Antonio Falco, the head of the rival Falco crime family.

"Where is Moretti?" Falco asked, slicing into a bloody steak. "He missed the Commission meeting in Atlantic City yesterday. That is a sign of disrespect, Marco."

"Dominic is handling private matters," Marco said smoothly, his hand resting casually near his coat jacket. "The Moretti family honors all existing agreements, Antonio. You have no reason to complain."

Falco laughed—a dry, raspy sound. "Private matters? My sources tell me he left the state. He took no security detail, no armored cars, and no primary guards. He’s running around in the countryside playing daddy to a housemaid's bastard child."

Marco’s eyes flashed with dangerous warning. "Watch your mouth, Falco."

"I watch what I choose to watch!" Falco snapped, slamming his fork down onto the table. "Moretti has gotten soft! He lets women and children distract him from business. Brooklyn belongs to the Falcos, Marco. Tell your boss that when he decides to come back from his little farm vacation, he will find two of his docks under my control."

Marco stood up slowly, leaning over the table until his face was inches from Falco’s.

"Listen to me, Antonio," Marco whispered, his tone chillingly precise. "Dominic Moretti went to Pennsylvania to honor a dying woman. If you think that makes him soft, you are making the last mistake of your life. Touch one crate on our docks, and I won't even try to stop him from putting you in the ground."

Marco turned and walked out of the restaurant, his phone already in his hand.

He dialed Dominic’s private line.

At the farmhouse in Pennsylvania, Dominic was sitting on the porch steps in the dark, watching the stars, when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, seeing Marco’s name on the screen.

He stepped off the porch, walking toward the oak trees before answering.

"Report," Dominic said coldly.

"Falco knows you're out of the city," Marco reported quickly. "He’s making moves on the Brooklyn shipping docks. He thinks you've gone soft because of the girl."

Dominic looked back at the warm glow of the farmhouse windows, where Sophia was tucked into bed, and Lily was sleeping peacefully in her room.

"Has he crossed the river yet?" Dominic asked.

"Not yet. But he’s planning to hit Warehouse Four tomorrow night."

"Let him," Dominic said smoothly, his eyes hardening into flint. "Let him put his men inside Warehouse Four. I will be back in the city tomorrow afternoon. Tell the boys to prepare the heavy armor. Antonio Falco wants a war? I will give him an execution."

"Understood, Boss," Marco replied, a vicious grin spreading across his face. "What about the woman and the child?"