THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE ORDERED ME TO PUT HIS PREGNANT DAUGHTER IN A CAB BEFORE THEIR ENGAGEMENT DINNER—BUT WHEN I WALKED HER INTO THE DINING ROOM, LUCA MORETTI DROPPED HIS FORK AND WHISPERED, “YOU’RE HAVING A BABY?”

The grand dining hall was blindingly bright. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light across thirty heavy mahogany chairs occupied by Chicago’s elite: city councilmen, union bosses, shipping executives, and high-ranking captains of the Moretti family.

At the center of the head table sat Luca Moretti.

At fifty-four, Luca was a terrifyingly handsome man. Gray swept through his thick black hair at the temples, and his dark tailored suit masked a body built from decades of ruthless survival. When he spoke, men who controlled millions of dollars shut their mouths and listened.

I pushed open the heavy oak doors.

The low murmur of conversation instantly died down as I led Emily straight through the center aisle toward the main table.

Vanessa was standing near the head table, sipping vintage champagne. When she saw us, her face drained of all color. The glass shook in her hand.

"Claire!" Vanessa hissed under her breath, rushing down the carpeted aisle to intercept us. "Have you completely lost your mind?"

Several guests turned to look. Vanessa caught herself, forcing a tight, frozen socialite smile onto her face as she blocked our path.

"Emily, dear," Vanessa murmured, her voice laced with poison. "You really need to leave. You're causing a scene."

"No," I said firmly, stepping up beside Emily. "She isn't leaving."

Vanessa’s eyes turned pitch black. She leaned in so close I could smell her expensive rose perfume. "You desperate little maid," she whispered sharply. "I gave you a simple order. You are ruined."

She grabbed my arm with long, acrylic nails, attempting to physically turn me back toward the doors.

CLINK.

The sound was sharp, metallic, and unmistakable.

A silver fork had dropped onto a porcelain plate at the head of the room.

Luca Moretti stood up slowly.

He didn't look at Vanessa. He didn't look at me. His intense, dark gaze was locked entirely onto the young woman standing in the center of his dining room—specifically, at the heavy wool coat resting over her rounded stomach.

"Emily?" Luca’s voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the room like a cold blade.

Emily’s throat hitched. "Hi, Dad."

Luca stepped away from the table. He moved with a slow, deliberate grace, stepping down from the raised dais and walking past thirty staring guests until he stood just three feet away from his daughter.

He looked at her wet face. Then his gaze dropped to the curve of her belly beneath the unbuttoned navy dress.

His voice cracked—a sound no one in that room had ever heard from Luca Moretti. "You’re having a baby?"

Emily broke down, tears spilling down her pale cheeks.

Luca stared, completely frozen. "How far along are you?"

"Almost six months," she sobbed.

Luca’s face emptied of all expression. His jaw tightened so hard a vein throbbed along his temple. "Six months? Emily... why didn't you tell me?"

"I tried!" Emily cried out softly. "I tried so hard, Dad! I called you twenty times!"

Luca frowned, confused. "Twenty times? Emily, I haven't heard from you in two months. I thought you were angry with me."

"I kept calling your personal cell," Emily said, wiping her face with her wet sleeve. "Vanessa always answered."

Luca turned his head very slowly. His dark eyes locked onto Vanessa Bellini.

Vanessa immediately smoothed her crimson dress, stepping forward with a practiced smile. "Luca, sweetheart, I didn't want to bother you with minor details during the negotiations for the riverfront property—"

"You answered her calls?" Luca interrupted, his voice dropping into a dangerously quiet register.

"A few times," Vanessa said defensively. "She was emotional, Luca. I simply told her you were busy."

"No, you didn't," Emily interjected, her voice growing stronger. "You told me he didn't want to talk to me. You told me he was ashamed."

A collective gasp rippled through the dining hall. Two senior captains at the head table sat up straight, their hands instinctively moving toward their jackets.

Luca looked as if he had been struck in the chest with a sledgehammer. "Ashamed? Of you?"

"She said you were planning a grand wedding and didn't want people knowing your unmarried daughter was pregnant," Emily whispered.

Vanessa stepped between Luca and Emily, her tone turning sharp. "Luca, look around! This is your big night! I was trying to protect your image! You know how these people talk!"

"I don't give a damn about these people," Luca growled, his voice vibrating through the floorboards. "This is my daughter. This is my grandchild."

He ignored Vanessa completely, stepping around her to wrap his massive arms around Emily. He pulled her tight against his chest, burying his face in her rain-soaked hair.

"I would have been there," Luca whispered into her hair, his eyes squeezed shut. "For every doctor appointment. Every crib setup. Anything you needed."

"I brought you something," Emily murmured, reaching into her wet gift bag. She pulled out a small piece of white fabric and handed it to him.

Luca unfolded it with trembling hands. It was a tiny baby onesie. Printed across the chest in navy blue embroidery were two words: GRANDPA LUCA.

The most feared man in Chicago stood in the center of a room filled with mobsters, politicians, and billionaires, staring at a tiny piece of baby clothing while tears filled his eyes.

He pressed the onesie to his heart.