“Can I Sleep on You, Mister?” the Curvy Maid’s Little Girl Asked the Ruthless Mafia Boss—But When He Discovered Who Her Mother Really Was, He Put His Entire Empire on the Line to Protect Them

The courtyard was a battlefield of smoke, fire, and rain.

Don Carmine stood behind the reinforced doors of a black armored SUV, surrounded by his last six surviving mercenaries. The rest of his strike force lay motionless across the bloodstained lawn.

From the front doors of the mansion, Lorenzo emerged like a wraith from the underworld.

His tactical vest was shredded, blood dripping from a gash on his temple, but his stride was steady, inexorable, and terrifying. In his hands, he held an empty rifle, which he tossed aside into the mud, drawing a heavy combat blade from his boot.

“Shoot him!” Carmine screamed, his voice cracking with panic. “What are you waiting for? Put him down!”

The mercenaries raised their weapons, but before they could fire, sniper rounds cracked from the mansion’s roofline. Gianni and Lorenzo’s surviving loyalists picked them off one by one, dropping the guards into the mud until Carmine stood entirely alone.

Carmine scrambled to get back inside the SUV, but Lorenzo was already there.

With a roar of primal fury, Lorenzo dragged the old man out of the vehicle, slamming him face-first onto the hood. Carmine choked on the rain and his own blood, clawing at Lorenzo’s iron grip.

“Lorenzo... wait!” Carmine gasped, terror turning his skin gray. “We are blood! The Moretti bloodline! You can't kill your own kin!”

“You ceased to be my kin the day you put a bomb in Mateo Rivera’s car,” Lorenzo snarled, his voice a blade of pure ice. “And you forfeited your soul when you brought guns into the house where his daughter sleeps.”

Lorenzo drove the combat blade down through the center of Carmine’s hand, pinning him to the hood of the car. Carmine shrieked in agony.

“This is for Mateo,” Lorenzo said, drawing his sidearm.

He pressed the barrel against Carmine’s temple.

“And this is for my wife.”

*BANG.*

The gunshot echoed across the estate, rolling into the thunderous sky before dying out in the pouring rain.

Lorenzo let the corpse slide into the mud. He stood in the downpour, chest heaving, his eyes wild with the adrenaline of battle.

Then, the heavy iron cellar doors creaked open across the courtyard.

Elena stumbled out into the rain, clutching Mia to her chest with one arm, her other arm limp and dripping crimson into the puddles. Mia was crying, her tiny hands clutching Elena’s hair.

All the fury and darkness drained out of Lorenzo’s frame in an instant. He dropped his weapon, sprinting across the courtyard through the mud and rain, sliding to his knees before them.

“Elena!” Lorenzo roared, his hands hovering frantically over her wounded arm, his face contorted in agony. “Medics! Get the medics out here now!”

“Lorenzo... she’s safe,” Elena whispered, her strength giving out as she swayed forward. “Mia is safe.”

Lorenzo caught them both in his massive arms, pulling them tight against his chest, heedless of the blood, the mud, and the rain. He pressed his face into Elena’s neck, his massive shoulders trembling as a ragged sob tore from his throat.

“I have you,” Lorenzo choked out, kissing Elena’s wet hair, her cheeks, her lips, before kissing Mia’s tear-stained face. “You’re safe. The war is over. I swear to God, the war is over.”

Mia sniffled, looking up through the rain at the bloodied, terrifying boss of the underworld. She reached out a small, trembling hand and touched the gash on his cheek.