Mafia Boss Saved His “Mistress” While His Pregnant Wife Bled—By Dawn, She and His Son Were Gone

Luca didn't hesitate.

The millisecond the tactical door clicked, his lethal instincts overrode every drop of emotion in his body.

He grabbed Giana by her waist, pulled her behind his massive frame, and drew his custom Sig Sauer from his shoulder holster, firing three rounds through the drywall before Dante Stal’s men could fully raise their barrels.

Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!

Two mercenaries dropped to the floorboards.

"GET BACK!" Luca roared to Giana, shoving her down the side corridor toward the grand ballroom as heavy automatic fire tore through the hallway, shattering light fixtures and plaster in a hail of dust.

Giana didn't freeze. Five years of surviving had made her sharp. She ran down the side hall, but instead of heading toward the crowded ballroom where innocent civilians would be slaughtered, she reached into her evening bag and pulled out her personal smartphone.

She hit speed-dial 1. "Marco! They found us! Drake Hotel, west wing service corridor! They have heavy weapons!"

"I'm three minutes away with the truck, Giana!" Marco’s voice barked over the speaker. "Is Leo with you?!"

Giana’s heart slammed into her throat like a sledgehammer.

Leo wasn't at home.

Because Marco had been working late at the studio, he had dropped Leo off at the Drake Hotel’s private daycare facility on the third floor thirty minutes before the gala began!

"LEO IS ON THE THIRD FLOOR!" Giana screamed into the phone.

"GOD IN HEAVEN!" Marco roared. "I'm coming!"

Back in the corridor, Luca was fighting like a man possessed. He moved through the blinding dust and flying plaster with terrifying, mechanical precision. He reloaded his weapon in a fraction of a second, firing around corners, taking out Dante Stal’s tactical squad one by one.

Gabriel and the rest of Luca’s security team burst into the corridor from the ballroom side, joining the fire fight.

"Boss! We need to pull back!" Gabriel shouted over the deafening pops of silenced weapons. "The local police are already responding to the panic alarms!"

"They aren't here for the city!" Luca barked, stepping over a fallen gunman, his face covered in white plaster dust and blood from a grazing wound on his temple. "Where is Giana?!"

Giana ran back into the corridor, her hair wild, her emerald dress torn at the hem. She grabbed Luca’s jacket lapels with frantic, trembling hands.

"Luca!" she screamed through the smoke. "My son! He's on the third floor!"

Luca stopped. He looked at her, confusion flickering across his sharp features. "Your... your son?"

"HE'S FIVE YEARS OLD, LUCA!" Giana wept hysterically, digging her fingers into his suit. "I didn't lose him! I birthed him in a basement five years ago! HE IS YOUR SON!"

Luca’s entire universe stopped.

The noise of the gunfire, the blaring security alarms, the shouting of his men—everything vanished into absolute, deafening silence.

His son.

The child he had grieved for five agonizing years... the child he thought was lying at the bottom of the ocean... was alive. On the third floor of this building.

Luca’s silver eyes blazed with a terrifying, apocalyptic light.

He didn't scream. He didn't gasp. He reached out, grabbed a fully loaded submachine gun from a fallen mercenary’s vest, and racked the heavy bolt back with a sickening clack.

"Gabriel," Luca whispered, his voice vibrating with a dark, unstoppable power that made his lead guard tremble.