The Mafia Boss Was Ready to Throw the Maid’s Daughter Out — Until the 3-Year-Old Handed Him a Half-Eaten Cookie

Sophia’s face drained of all color. Her brown eyes darted toward the office door, calculating how fast she could grab Emma and run.

"Her... her father passed away before she was born, sir," Sophia stammered, her voice shaking uncontrollably. "I'm so sorry she bothered you. She just wandered off while I was cleaning the hallway. I'll take her and go—"

"Don't lie to me," Alessandro interrupted softly.

He didn't raise his voice, but the terrifying certainty in his tone locked Sophia’s feet to the floor.

Alessandro looked back down at Emma. He reached out with his other hand and gently brushed a golden-blonde curl away from her rosy cheek.

"She has my mother’s exact shade of blue eyes," Alessandro murmured, almost to himself. "She has the Moretti dimple on her left cheek. And she has the crescent-shaped birthmark on her right wrist. A genetic trait passed down through the men in my family for four generations."

Sophia swallowed a heavy, painful lump in her throat. She instinctively stepped forward, pulling Emma gently away from the wheelchair and hiding the little girl behind her gray maid skirt.

Alessandro finally looked back up at Sophia. The ruthless Mafia boss looked as if he had just seen a ghost.

"Four years ago, my younger brother, Mateo, went missing," Alessandro said, his voice tightening with suppressed grief. "The police found his car abandoned by the river. We mourned an empty casket."

Alessandro gripped the armrests of his wheelchair, his knuckles turning white.