I Went to Tell the Mafia Boss I Was Pregnant—And Caught Him with His Secretary

Lorenzo did not act like the terrifying mafia boss of New York. He slept in the small guest room, woke up at 5:00 AM every morning to chop firewood, clear the snowy driveway, and cook breakfast. He bought groceries from the local market, carried heavy bags, and spent his evenings sitting quietly in the armchair by the fire, reading medical books on pregnancy and infant care.

He never touched me without permission. He never demanded anything. He simply served.

When my back ached from the weight of my seven-month belly, he would quietly bring a warm hot-water bottle and place it behind my chair. When I had intense cravings for dark chocolate at 2:00 AM, he would drive forty miles through a snowstorm to find an open 24-hour market.

Slowly, the icy wall I had built around my heart began to show small cracks.

One snowy evening in late January, as a blizzard howled outside the cottage, I sat on the sofa watching Lorenzo assemble a white wooden crib he had ordered from Italy.

He was sitting on the floor in his gray sweater, his dark hair messy, struggling with a small Allen wrench, muttering frustrated Italian swear words under his breath.

A soft chuckle escaped my lips before I could stop it.

Lorenzo stopped, looking up from the wooden crib railing, his gray eyes widening in surprise. It was the first time he had heard me laugh in six months.

"What?" he asked, a faint, boyish smile touching his lips.

"The most feared man in New York is being defeated by a wooden crib," I teased gently.

Lorenzo looked down at the wooden pieces, then back up at me, his smile broadening. "The instructions are in German, Isabella. My German is rusty."

"Give it here," I said, gesturing for him to come closer.

Lorenzo stood up, walked over to the sofa, and sat down on the floor near my feet. He held up the wooden frame, and together we aligned the brass screws, our fingers brushing against each other.

A warm, electrical charge zipped through my skin at his touch. I didn't pull away.

Lorenzo noticed. His gray eyes softened with deep, intense affection. He slowly reached out, placing his large, warm palm gently over the right side of my rounded stomach.

A second later, the baby gave a powerful, sharp kick straight against his palm!

Lorenzo gasped, freezing in place. His eyes went wide with pure, unadulterated wonder.

"Did you... did you feel that?" he whispered, his voice trembling like a child’s on Christmas morning.

"He kicks every time you speak Italian," I smiled, my eyes tearing up.

Lorenzo pressed his forehead gently against my stomach, his hands cupping my bump with reverent, fierce tenderness. "Hello, my little prince," he whispered softly into my sweater. "I am your father. I promise I will spend the rest of my life making sure you and your mother are safe."

I reached out, my fingers gently running through Lorenzo’s thick, dark hair.

For the first time in six months, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. The dark shadows of his past seemed miles away.

Until the front window exploded inward in a shower of deadly glass!

CRASH!

"DOWN!" Lorenzo roared!

In a fraction of a second, Lorenzo tackled me off the sofa, covering my body completely with his broad frame as heavy automatic gunfire tore through the cottage walls!

RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

Sparks flew off the stone fireplace! Wood splinters rained down on us as bullets ripped through the kitchen cabinets and shattered the lamps into dust!

Lorenzo held me tightly beneath him, his arms wrapped around my head and belly like an iron shield.

"Isabella! Are you hit?!" he barked over the deafening noise, his gray eyes wild with lethal fury.

"No! I'm okay!" I screamed, clutching his sweater in absolute terror.

The gunfire stopped briefly, replaced by the crunch of heavy boots on the snow outside the front porch.

A harsh, raspy voice shouted from the darkness: "DEX30! We know you're in there, DeSantis! The Moretti family sent their regards! Hand over the girl and we'll let you die quick!"

Lorenzo’s face hardened into a mask of pure, murderous steel. The peaceful man who had been building a crib five seconds ago vanished completely, replaced by the apex predator of the underworld.

He reached under the sofa, pulling out a heavy black semi-automatic pistol he had hidden in the framework.

"Stay behind the stone hearth, Isabella," Lorenzo ordered, his voice dropping into a deadly, ice-cold register. "Do not move, no matter what you hear."

"Lorenzo, no!" I sobbed, reaching for his arm. "There are too many of them!"

Lorenzo turned, cupped my face with his hand, and pressed a deep, fierce kiss against my lips—a kiss filled with raw passion, protection, and absolute devotion.