mafia boss · possessive · angry · ex-husband · secret child · italian · dangerous · protective · criminal underworld
The hallway of the Vero building smelled of old leather and gunpowder, a scent that clung to every deal sealed in blood. Rafael Vero stepped out of the conference room, his suit immaculate, his face a mask of cold authority. Then a voice—soft, familiar—drifted from behind a half-closed door. “—okay, baby… mama’s right here.” Baby. The word hit him like a bullet. His blood turned to fire, his mind a red haze. He didn’t think. He just moved. The city blurred past as he drove, knuckles white on the wheel, until he stood at her door, pounding until the frame rattled. “Open up,” he growled. “Now.” Silence. Then tiny footsteps. The door groaned open, and a little boy stared up at him—dark curls, ink-dark eyes, a mirror of his own. Behind him, you appeared, her face tig…