Can I Borrow You as My Daddy... Just for One Day? The Maid's Toddler Asked the Mafia Boss

At 4:30 PM, a battered yellow taxicab slammed its brakes outside the iron gates of the Verrone estate.

Joey Moretti stumbled out of the back seat. He was thirty-two years old, thin, gaunt, with yellowed teeth and bloodshot eyes framed by dark circles. He wore a dirty leather jacket that reeked of cheap bourbon and stale cigarettes.

"Hey! Verrone!" Joey screamed at the security cameras mounted on the stone pillars. "Open the damn gate! I know my wife and kid are in there! You think you can steal my kid just 'cause you got money?!"

To Joey’s sudden surprise, the massive iron gates hummed to life, slowly swinging open.

Joey grinned, a foolish, cocaine-fueled arrogance surging through his veins. He adjusted his jacket, hiding a cheap snub-nosed revolver in his right pocket, and strutted up the long brick driveway toward the grand portico.

Standing on the top marble step of the portico was Damiano Verrone.

He stood alone, his hands tucked casually into his trousers pockets, his dark hair catching the autumn wind. He didn't look angry; he looked like a god watching an insect crawl across a paved road.

Joey stopped at the base of the steps, panting slightly, trying to look tough. "You Verrone?"

"I am," Damiano said calmly.

"I want my kid," Joey demanded, spitting on the clean cobblestones. "Elena is my legal wife. Mia is my daughter. You got no right to keep them in your castle! You give me two million in cash right now, or I go straight to the NYPD and the news reporters and tell them the big mafia boss kidnapped my family!"

Damiano didn't speak immediately. He slowly walked down the marble steps, one by one, until he was standing three feet from the trembling, drug-addled man.

"Joey," Damiano spoke softly. "Six years ago, when Elena was three months pregnant with Mia, you took her wedding ring and pawned it for eight hundred dollars at a shop on 4th Street."

Joey blinked, startled. "What? How do you—"

"Five years ago, while Mia was in the hospital with a high fever, you took the three hundred dollars Elena had saved for medicine and spent it on a horse race in New Jersey," Damiano continued, taking another slow step forward. "Four years ago, you were sentenced to six years in prison for armed robbery of a corner grocery store."

Joey’s eyes darted frantically toward the dark trees lining the driveway. He realized, with sudden, terrifying clarity, that there were eight armed men standing quietly in the shadows of the courtyard, watching him.

"I... I got rights!" Joey stammered, his hand moving toward his jacket pocket. "I'm her father!"

Damiano’s hand shot out like a strike from a panther.

He grabbed Joey by the throat, lifting the grown man two inches off the ground, squeezing his windpipe until Joey’s face turned purple, his legs kicking uselessly in the air. Damiano’s other hand effortlessly reached into Joey’s jacket, snatched the snub-nosed revolver, and crushed the steel cylinder with a single, brutal twist of his fingers before dropping the ruined gun onto the cobblestones.

"You are not a father, Joey," Damiano whispered into his ear, his voice so cold it made Joey’s blood freeze. "You are an biological accident. A mistake that Elena suffered through six years ago."

"Please..." Joey choked out, tears of absolute terror streaming down his greasy cheeks. "Don't... don't kill me..."

Damiano lowered him slightly, bringing his face inches from Joey's.

"You will sign full, irrevocable legal adoption surrender papers within one hour," Damiano stated. "Rafael has a judge waiting in Brooklyn right now. After you sign those papers, you will take twenty thousand dollars in cash—a gift from me—and you will board a train to California. If I ever see your face in the State of New York again... I will not put you in prison, Joey. I will bury you under the concrete of Pier 42."