The Waitress Ignored The Rude Mafia Boss—He Roared, "Bring Me The Girl Who Refused Me!" The most feared man in the lounge snapped his fingers at me, and I walked away from his table.

The gates of the Moretti estate loomed out of the darkness like iron teeth.

Clara sat rigid in the backseat, clutching the silver crescent-moon locket so tightly it dug into her palm. Her breathing was shallow. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the photograph of Maya sitting on the stoop, watched by a predator.

"Is she safe?" Clara demanded for the fourth time as the SUV tires crunched onto the gravel driveway.

"My head of security, Marcus, has been with her since we brought her here," Lorenzo said calmly. "The estate is heavily fortified. Vincent cannot touch her here."

Answer one: Lorenzo hadn't kidnapped Maya to force Clara’s hand. He had evacuated the child because his uncle Vincent was already moving against Clara to get to Lorenzo.

The vehicle stopped in front of a sprawling, stone mansion. Clara didn't wait for the guards to open her door. She shoved it open herself and sprinted up the marble steps.

Lorenzo followed closely behind, his long strides easily matching her frantic pace.

He pushed the heavy mahogany doors open. The foyer was massive, lit by a crystal chandelier that cast a warm glow over the imported rugs and dark wood.

"Maya!" Clara yelled, her voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings.

"Clara!"

A small figure appeared at the top of the grand staircase. Maya, wearing her faded pink pajamas, her dark hair a tangled mess, ran down the carpeted stairs as fast as her legs could carry her.

Clara dropped to her knees on the marble floor and caught the eight-year-old in a desperate, crushing hug. She buried her face in her sister's hair, breathing in the scent of strawberry shampoo, tears finally spilling hot down her cheeks.

"Are you okay? Did anyone hurt you?" Clara pulled back, frantically checking Maya’s face and arms for bruises.

"I'm okay, Clara," Maya said, looking confused. "A nice man in a suit came and said you had a special surprise job for me. He brought me here and gave me ice cream. Is this a castle?"

Clara let out a shaky breath, pressing her forehead against Maya’s. "Something like that, sweetie."

Lorenzo stood nearby, watching the interaction. His expression remained unreadable, but the hard lines around his mouth had softened slightly. He looked at a broad-shouldered man standing near the stairs—Marcus.

"Any issues?" Lorenzo asked quietly.

"No, boss," Marcus replied. "We got to the apartment five minutes before Vincent's crew arrived. They kicked the door in, but it was empty."

Clara stood up, holding Maya’s hand tight. She looked at Lorenzo. The reality of what had just happened settled heavily into her bones. Her home was gone. The life she knew was gone.

"They kicked our door in," Clara whispered.

"Vincent wants to ensure I don't inherit the shipping routes," Lorenzo said, turning to face her. "He knew I was looking for a wife. He had his men tailing me. When he saw I took an interest in you at the lounge tonight, he decided to eliminate the possibility before it began."

Open two: If Vincent is willing to attack an innocent waitress to stop a fake marriage, how far will he go when the marriage actually happens? And who tipped Vincent off so quickly?

"I can't drag an eight-year-old into a mafia war," Clara said, shaking her head. "We’ll leave. We’ll go to a shelter. A different city."

"Vincent has eyes in every bus terminal and train station in New York," Lorenzo said. "If you walk out those doors, you are prey. If you stay, you are untouchable. As my fiancée, you fall under the protection of the syndicate council. Vincent cannot openly attack my future wife without starting a war he cannot win."

Clara looked around the opulent foyer. It was a golden cage. But it was a cage that would keep Maya alive.

She looked down at the silver locket in her hand, then fastened it securely around Maya’s neck.

"Okay," Clara said, looking up at Lorenzo with a fierce, unwavering gaze. "I'll marry you. But we have ground rules. You don't make decisions about my sister without telling me. And you treat me as a partner, not an employee."

Lorenzo’s dark eyes flashed with something akin to respect. "Agreed."

"Good," Clara said. "Now, where do we sleep?"

"Marcus will show you to the guest wing," Lorenzo gestured. "Tomorrow, the staff will bring proper clothes for both of you. We have a family dinner on Sunday. You will meet my grandfather."

As Clara turned to follow Marcus, Maya suddenly stopped.

The little girl pointed toward the coat closet near the front door. The door was slightly ajar, revealing a heavy, dark green trench coat hanging inside.

"Clara," Maya said innocently. "That’s the coat the man was wearing."

Clara frowned. "What man, sweetie? Marcus?"

"No," Maya shook her head. "The man who was standing outside our window yesterday. The one who took my picture. He had that green coat on."

The foyer went completely still.

Clara slowly turned toward Lorenzo.

Lorenzo wasn't looking at Maya. He was staring at the dark green trench coat hanging in his own closet.

Answer one: Vincent hadn't just followed Lorenzo to the Obsidian Lounge tonight. He had been watching Clara’s apartment since yesterday.

But a terrifying new reality shattered the silence.

If Vincent’s man was wearing that coat yesterday... how did the coat get inside Lorenzo’s locked, heavily fortified mansion tonight?