That answer seemed to interest him.
His mouth curved slightly.
“Of me?”
“Of men who think every room gets smaller when they enter.”
The cook muttered, “Claire.”
But it was too late.
Dante leaned back.
His men went still.
“You talk to everyone like that?”
“Only when they make it easy.”
Nicky looked furious.
Dante looked almost amused.
Then he asked the question.
“You got a boyfriend, sweetheart?”
His men laughed.
Maybe he meant to embarrass me.
Maybe he meant to test me.
Maybe men like him flirted the same way they threatened, just to see who flinched.
I thought of Milo upstairs, small body burning with fever, dinosaur pajamas twisted around his legs, asking for me in that little voice.
And suddenly I was too tired to be polite.
“No,” I said.
Dante smiled.
“Lucky me.”
I looked at him and said, “A son.”
That was when everything changed.
Dante’s smile vanished.
For a second, I saw something raw move across his face.
Pain.
Recognition.
Maybe even fear.
Then the kitchen door swung open, and Rosie appeared at the end of the counter.
She was holding Milo.
My Milo.
Barefoot.
Flushed.
Coughing into her shoulder.
“Claire,” she called softly. “Honey, he’s asking for you.”
Every cell in my body turned toward him.
“Milo.”
He lifted his head weakly.
“Mommy.”
I dropped the towel and crossed the diner without caring who watched.
I took him from Rosie, pressed my lips to his hot forehead, and felt panic climb my throat.
“He’s burning up.”
Rosie’s face was pale.
“I know.”
I reached for my phone.
No car.
The Mafia Boss Asked If She Had a Boyfriend—Her Two-Word Answer Made Him Go Silent
