Chapter 11
Tears of overwhelming, unadulterated joy poured down my cheeks as the nurse brought my son to my face.
He had a thick tuft of dark hair, tiny clenching fists, and eyes that opened slowly to look at me.
“He’s perfect, Miss Moretti,” the nurse smiled, resting his warm body against my shoulder.
“Seven pounds, four ounces. Healthy and strong.”
I kissed his tiny forehead, weeping softly. “Welcome to the world, Leo.”
Up in the viewing gallery, I saw my father press his hand against the thick glass window.
A single tear slid down the hardened face of the most feared mob boss in New York.
He gave me a tight, proud nod before turning away to address the two commanders standing behind him.
The joy of my son’s birth was safe, but the reckoning for the monsters who hurt us had just begun.
An hour later, I was moved into a luxurious private recovery suite guarded by eight armed Moretti guards.
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Little Leo slept peacefully in a glass bassinet right beside my hospital bed.
The door opened softly, and Vincent stepped inside, holding a large bouquet of rare white orchids.
