550 The Mafia Boss's Baby Reached For One Waitress Only, And Nobody Could Explain Why

Glass rained down like a crystalline storm. Women screamed; tables flipped; wood splintered as patrons scrambled under furniture.

"GET DOWN!" Dante roared, grabbing my shoulder with iron force and slamming me down behind the heavy marble service counter just as a hail of automatic gunfire tore through the restaurant's dining room.

I hit the floor on my knees, my instincts taking over. I wrapped my entire body around baby Leo, tucking his small head into the crook of my elbow, shielding him with my back as wood chips and broken wine bottles exploded around us. Leo didn't cry. He clung to my shirt, his small body trembling violently against mine, but he stayed completely silent, trusting me implicitly.

"COVER THE BOSS!" shouted the bodyguard with the broken nose—the one named Marco.

Dante pulled a dark, heavy handgun from beneath his tailored jacket. He didn't look at the shooters bursting through the smoke; his eyes swept down to me, checking Leo first, then scanning my face.

"Are you hit?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the ringing in my ears.

"No!" I gasped, clutching Leo tighter. "We're okay! He’s okay!"

A flash of something wild and fiercely protective flared in Dante’s dark eyes. "Keep your head down. Don't move from this spot."

Dante leaned around the corner of the marble counter and fired three rapid shots. The deafening BANG-BANG-BANG made my teeth rattle, but through the gap in the woodwork, I saw two attackers in tactical vests collapse to the floor.

"It’s the Camorra!" Marco yelled, reloading his submachine gun while crouching behind a overturned dining table. "They tracked the baby's medical transport! They knew you were here without the main convoy!"

"They brought thirty men to a restaurant," Dante growled, his face morphing into a mask of pure, demonic fury. "They think they can slaughter my family in broad daylight."

Outside, sirens began to wail in the distance, but in the underworld, police sirens were just background music. The gunfire intensified. Bullets shredded the vintage wine racks behind the bar, sending hundreds of gallons of expensive red wine splashing over the floor like blood.

A heavily armed attacker flanked our position, vaulting over the shattered bar with a shotgun raised directly toward me and the baby.

I screamed, burying my face over Leo. "NO!"

THWACK.

Dante didn't even use his gun. He grabbed a heavy crystal decanter from the floor and drove it directly into the attacker's throat. The glass shattered, the man collapsed gurgling, and Dante seized the man's shotgun, tossing it to Marco before grabbing my arm with his left hand.

"We move now!" Dante ordered. "To the back kitchen! The armored cars are coming around the alley!"

"I can't run in this!" I cried, gesturing to my high heels and long apron.

Without a second thought, Dante reached down, grabbed the hem of my work dress, and ripped it up to the knee in one fluid, powerful motion, freeing my legs. Then he scooped his arm around my waist, lifting half my weight as he dragged me through the flying sparks and smoke toward the kitchen doors.

We burst into the industrial kitchen. Cookware rattled on racks; steam hissed from punctured pipes.

Two bodyguards held the heavy steel rear exit door open. Outside, three black armored SUVs slammed to a halt, their tires screaming against the wet asphalt of the alleyway.

"Get in!" Dante shoved me into the middle row of the lead SUV.

I tumbled onto the plush leather seats, still clutching Leo to my chest. Before I could even sit up, Dante jumped in beside us, slamming the reinforced steel door shut just as bullets rattled against the exterior glass like heavy hail.

The SUV lurched forward, accelerating so fast my head snapped back against the headrest.

Inside the vehicle, the noise of the battle instantly died away, replaced by the heavy, rhythmic breathing of three armed men and the quiet, tiny hiccups of the baby in my arms.

I sat there in the dark, shivering, covered in wood dust, dried wine, and torn clothing, holding the heir to Chicago's most ruthless crime syndicate.

Dante turned to me. In the dim red ambient lighting of the armored car, his face looked carved from granite. He reached out, his big hand trembling slightly, and brushed a lock of dust-covered hair from my cheek.

"You protected him," Dante said softly. "You put your own body over my son."

"He's just a baby," I sobbed, the adrenaline finally leaving my system, leaving me shaking like a leaf. "He didn't ask for any of this."

"No, he didn't," Dante agreed, his voice dangerously soft. "And neither did you. But the moment you stepped into that light with my wife’s face and my son in your arms, your old life ended, Mara."

I looked at him in terror. "What do you mean?"

"The Camorra saw you," Dante said, his dark eyes locking onto mine with absolute finality. "They saw Leo reach for you. They saw me bleed for you. If I let you go back to your apartment tonight, they will kidnap you by midnight to tear you apart for information."