Mafia Boss’s Son Wouldn’t Stop Crying — Until the Waitress Whispered, “He Needs a Mom” — Part 2
Mafia Boss’s Son Wouldn’t Stop Crying — Until the Waitress Whispered, “He Needs a Mom” — Part 2
The Moretti estate didn’t feel like a home.
It felt like a fortress.
High stone walls surrounded the property. Security cameras watched every entrance. Armed men stood beneath the trees, their hands hidden beneath expensive jackets.
When the black Escalade stopped at the front doors, Clara stared through the window.
“This is where you live?”
Rico stepped out.
“This is where I survive.”
Clara looked at him.
For the first time, she wondered how much of the man beneath the expensive suit was still alive.
The front doors opened.
A housekeeper named Maria waited inside.
She looked at Clara.
Then at Rico.
Then back at Clara.
Her expression suggested she already knew this was going to be complicated.
“Your room is in the east wing,” Rico said.
Clara followed him inside.
“Leo’s room is next to yours. Mine is down the hall.”
He stopped.
“And stay out of the west wing.”
“Your office?”
“Yes.”
Clara nodded.
“Anything else?”
Rico looked at her.
“Don’t get comfortable.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“I’m being paid ten thousand dollars a week. I plan to get extremely comfortable.”
For half a second, something almost resembling amusement appeared in Rico’s eyes.
Then it disappeared.
Maria led Clara upstairs.
When Clara entered her bedroom, she stopped.
The room was larger than her entire apartment in Queens.
A silk dress had been placed carefully across the bed.
Maria pointed toward it.
“Mr. Moretti expects you at breakfast at seven.”
“Seven in the morning?”
“Exactly.”
Maria paused at the door.
“And don’t be late.”
The door closed.
Clara stared at the dress.
Then at the enormous bed.
Then at the rain outside.
She had been a waitress that morning.
By midnight, she was living in a mansion and pretending to be engaged to one of New York’s most feared men.
Her life had become absurd.
But absurd didn’t mean safe.
She barely slept.
At approximately two in the morning, she heard screaming.
Clara bolted upright.
For a moment, she didn’t know where she was.
Then she heard it again.
A child’s scream.
She ran into the hallway barefoot.
Leo’s bedroom door was open.
She rushed inside.
Leo was standing in his crib, thrashing against the wooden rails.
His face was bright red.
Tears streamed down his cheeks.
“Mama!”
Rico was already there.
He was trying to hold his son, but Leo fought him desperately.
“Leo, please.”
Rico’s voice sounded exhausted.
The boy scratched his father’s chest.
Rico stepped back.
He looked completely helpless.
Clara stood in the doorway.
“Let me.”
Rico looked up.
He was shirtless.
Scars covered his torso—old knife wounds, bullet grazes, and marks from a life spent surrounded by violence.
Clara forced herself to look at his face.
Not his body.
Not the scars.
His face.
“He doesn’t want me,” Rico said bitterly.
Clara stepped toward the crib.
“He’s not rejecting you.”
She lowered her voice.
“He’s remembering her.”
Rico went still.
Clara didn’t immediately pick Leo up.
Instead, she began humming.
A soft melody.
Slow.
Gentle.
“Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly…”
Leo froze.
His head turned toward her.
Clara continued humming.
“Lavender’s green…”
The boy stared at her.
“Hi, Leo.”
She lowered the crib rail.
“It’s just a bad dream.”
Then she lifted him.
He was hot and sweaty.
Clara carried him to the rocking chair beside the window.
She sat down.
And rocked.
Slowly.
Back and forth.
The little boy’s breathing gradually became calmer.
Rico stood in the doorway.
He watched silently.
Moonlight spilled across the room.
For a moment, the dangerous mafia boss looked like nothing more than a tired father watching his family.
Except they weren’t a family.
Not yet.
Clara was still a stranger.
After several minutes, Leo’s breathing became steady.
Rico finally spoke.
“Where did you learn that song?”
Clara kept rocking.
“My mother used to sing it.”
Rico looked at her.
“You have a magic touch.”
“It’s not magic.”
Her voice tightened.
“It’s grief.”
Rico frowned.
Clara stared down at Leo.
“I know what it feels like to wake up looking for someone who isn’t there.”
Rico slowly entered the room.
He stopped a few feet away.
The atmosphere between them had changed.
It wasn’t hostile anymore.
It was something quieter.
A shared understanding.
Pain recognizing pain.
“What happened to you, Clara?”
She looked up.
“That wasn’t in your file, Mr. Moretti.”
His jaw tightened.
“You hired me to be a mother to your son.”
She paused.
“You didn’t hire me to tell you my story.”
Rico stared at her.
For a moment, Clara saw something flicker in his eyes.
Respect.
“Touché.”
He turned toward the door.
“Go to sleep, Clara.”
Then he stopped.
“Tomorrow, the tailor arrives.”
Clara looked at him.
“We have to make you look like a Moretti.”
She sighed.
“Wonderful.”
Rico’s hand rested on the door.
Then he looked back.
“And call me Rico.”
Clara raised an eyebrow.
“If we’re going to lie to the world, we should at least get the names right.”
He left.
Clara looked down at the sleeping child in her arms.
Leo stirred.
His tiny fingers curled around her shirt.
Clara smiled sadly.
“You’re going to get me into so much trouble, little man.”
She had no idea how true those words were.
The next morning, the transformation began.
A stylist arrived at eight.
Then another.
Then a tailor.
Then a makeup artist.
Clara sat through hours of measurements, hair styling, and dress fittings.
She barely recognized herself when she finally looked in the mirror.
The woman staring back at her wore an elegant emerald dress.
Her hair was pinned into soft waves.
A diamond necklace rested against her collarbone.
And on her left hand sat a massive diamond ring.
She lifted her hand.
“This is fake, right?”
The jeweler glanced nervously at Rico.
Rico looked at Clara.
“No.”
Her eyes widened.
“You said it was a pretend engagement.”
“The engagement is pretend.”
He glanced at the ring.
“The diamond isn’t.”
Clara stared at him.
“How much did this cost?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“That’s what rich people say right before telling me something costs more than my apartment.”
Rico’s mouth twitched.
Clara pointed at him.
“Was that a smile?”
“No.”
“It was.”
“No.”
She grinned.
“You almost smiled.”
Rico turned away.
“Breakfast.”
Clara followed him downstairs.
Leo was already sitting in his high chair.
The moment he saw Clara, his face lit up.
He reached toward her.
“Ma!”
Clara froze.
Rico froze.
The entire room froze.
Leo reached toward her again.
“Ma.”
Clara’s eyes filled with tears.
Rico slowly looked at his son.
Then at Clara.
The little boy had not called anyone that since Elena died.
Clara walked toward him.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Leo reached for her.
She picked him up.
He immediately wrapped his arms around her neck.
Rico watched silently.
Something in his chest tightened.
The fake engagement suddenly felt much more complicated.
Because the little boy didn’t understand the arrangement.
To Leo, Clara wasn’t pretending.
She was becoming something real.
Two days later, Rico took Clara to her first public event.
The Moretti family’s annual charity gala was held at one of Manhattan’s most luxurious hotels.
Hundreds of wealthy guests filled the ballroom.
Politicians.
Business owners.
Celebrities.
And men who pretended not to be criminals.
The moment Rico and Clara entered, cameras flashed.
Rico placed one hand against the small of her back.
Clara stiffened.
“Relax,” he whispered.
“I’m trying.”
“You look nervous.”
“I’m standing next to a mafia boss while wearing a diamond the size of a grape.”
Rico leaned closer.
“Smile.”
Clara smiled for the cameras.
Then whispered through her teeth.
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
“You enjoy this.”
“A little.”
She glanced at him.
His eyes were amused.
Clara’s heart skipped.
Then she remembered the rule.
Never fall in love with him.
Easy.
She didn’t believe in love.
Not anymore.
At least, that’s what she told herself.
Across the ballroom, a man watched them.
Carmine Salvi.
Rico’s most dangerous rival.
His gaze moved from Rico…
To Clara…
Then to Leo, who was being carried by Dante.
Carmine smiled.
“Interesting.”
His lieutenant leaned closer.
“What is it?”
Carmine’s eyes remained fixed on Clara.
“Rico Moretti finally has something to lose.”
Later that night, Clara returned to the estate with Leo asleep in her arms.
Rico followed behind them.
She carried the boy upstairs.
After placing him in bed, she kissed his forehead.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
As
