“You look hurt… do you need a hug?” the maid’s six-year-old daughter asked me—the most feared mafia boss in New York
“There’s something he needs to know about you.”
Lily looked from her mother to me, still holding my hand as though we had known each other longer than a few minutes.
“What does she mean?” I asked.
Isabella’s face had gone pale.
She glanced beyond me toward the two Moretti guards standing at the edge of the path. They wore dark coats, their hands hidden but ready, watching every stranger who came within twenty feet of me.
