“SAY CHEESE!” — The Maid’s Toddler Took a Photo With the Mafia Boss… Then He Saw What Was Behind Him

Friday arrived under a sky the color of lead.

A wet, slushy snow had begun to fall over Manhattan by mid-afternoon, turning the streets into black mirrors that reflected the neon glare of the city.

In the master suite of the penthouse, Renzo was helping Adrien strap a Kevlar trauma plate across his ribs. The ceramic vest was ultra-thin, designed to be worn beneath a custom-tailored tuxedo without creating suspicious lines in the fabric.

I stood in the doorway, my arms folded across my chest, watching them prepare for battle like knights before a tournament. Mia had fallen asleep in the guest room after a long afternoon of playing with the chef’s measuring spoons.

“The perimeter at the Metropolitan Club is tight,” Renzo was saying, checking the slide on a suppressed 9mm pistol before sliding it into an internal holster sewn into the back of Adrien’s silk vest. “Rossi has thirty private guards on the guest list. But we’ve secured the service entrance through the kitchen. Marco has four men stationed in the meat freezer with high-capacity shotguns.”

“Rossi won't strike in the dining room,” Adrien said, buttoning his crisp white pique shirt over the armor. “Not in front of the Commission elders. He’ll wait until the midnight toast, when the civilians leave for the private card rooms.”

He looked toward the mirror, adjusting the black silk bow tie with practiced, effortless precision. He looked magnificent. He looked lethal. He looked like an emperor who was preparing to burn his own capital to the ground.

Then his eyes caught mine in the glass.

“Renzo. Give us a minute.”

Renzo nodded once, slid the spare magazines into his tuxedo pocket, and walked out of the room, closing the heavy double doors behind him.

Adrien turned around. The tux made his broad shoulders look even wider, his gray eyes colder, more focused. But as he looked at me, the tension in his jaw softened.

“You’re still wearing it,” he said, looking at the jade pendant resting against the hollow of my throat.

“You told me to wear it,” I said, taking two hesitant steps into the room.

“Clara.”

He closed the distance between us in three long strides. He didn't ask; he didn't hesitate. He reached out and cupped the back of my neck with his large, warm hand, pulling me gently toward him.

My breath caught in my throat. I should have pulled away. I should have remembered the blood on his hands, the gun in his armpit, the dead man in the cellar. But when his lips met mine, every thought, every memory of fear, every instinct of self-preservation dissolved into ash.

His kiss was deep, possessive, and surprisingly desperate. It was the kiss of a drowning man reaching the surface of the water after years beneath the waves.

I reached up, my fingers sinking into the thick, dark hair at the nape of his neck, pulling myself against the hard, unyielding plate of his Kevlar vest. For one impossible moment, the penthouse, the blizzard, the snipers, and the mafia didn't exist. There was only the heat of his mouth, the steady thunder of his heartbeat against my chest, and the terrifying realization that I was falling hopelessly, completely in love with the most dangerous man in the state of New York.

He pulled back slowly, his forehead resting against mine. His breath was warm against my lips.

“If I don't come back by three in the morning,” he whispered, his gray eyes burning into mine, “Renzo has a plane waiting at Teterboro. You and Mia will be in Switzerland before dawn. There is an account in Zurich in your name. Fifty million dollars. It will be enough for five lifetimes.”

Tears sprang to my eyes, hot and angry.

“I don't want your money, Adrien,” I choked out, grabbing his lapels with both hands. “I want you to walk back through that elevator door. Do you hear me? You come back to us.”

Adrien looked down at my hands clutching his expensive silk, then up into my eyes.

The half-smile returned—the one Mia had captured through the shattered window.

“Yes, ma'am,” he murmured softly.