THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE FRAMED THE NEW MAID FOR THEFT - THEN SHE ASKED ABOUT HIS SISTER'S BABY

The penthouse apartment on the top floor of a high-security building in Tribeca was silent and warm.

Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the rain-slicked Manhattan skyline, but inside, the atmosphere was soft, filled with the gentle hum of a nursery lullaby playing from a small white speaker in the corner.

Laura pushed open the heavy mahogany door of the primary bedroom.

Garrett stepped in behind her, his tactical gear removed, wearing a simple black sweater and dark trousers. His hands were tucked deep into his pockets, his posture unusually stiff, his chest tight with a terrifying kind of nervousness he had never felt in a boardroom or a gunfight.

In the center of the vast, dimly lit room sat a white wooden crib.

Standing beside the crib was an elderly woman—Mrs. Gable, a former combat medic and trusted employee of the Hardwick estate who had been guarding the baby. She gave Garrett a respectful nod, offered Laura a reassuring smile, and quietly exited the room, closing the door behind her.

Laura walked over to the crib, reaching down to gently scoop up a small, bundle wrapped in a soft pink fleece blanket.

The baby whimpered slightly, stirring from her nap, rubbing her tiny fists against her eyes. She was fourteen months old, with a crown of soft, dark curls and bright, breathtaking hazel eyes that were an exact replica of Maya Hardwick’s.

"Garrett," Laura said softly, turning around with the child in her arms. "Come here."

The man who ruled the East Coast mafia with an iron fist froze. He looked at the tiny child, his throat working as he swallowed hard.

Slowly, almost reverently, Garrett walked across the room until he was standing right in front of Laura.

"She... she looks just like Maya," Garrett whispered, his voice cracking with an emotion he had suppressed for four long, brutal years.

"She has your jawline, though," Laura smiled faintly, lifting the baby slightly. "And your stubbornness. She refused to eat her strained carrots this morning until Mrs. Gable warmed them twice."

A soft, genuine laugh escaped Garrett’s lips—a sound his men hadn't heard in years.

"May I...?" Garrett hesitated, reaching out two massive, calloused hands that had broken bones and pulled triggers, trembling slightly as he held them out.

"Of course," Laura said gently, placing Clara into his arms.

Garrett adjusted his grip with extreme care, cradling the tiny girl against his broad chest as if she were made of delicate glass.

Little Clara blinked up at the gigantic man holding her. She didn't cry. She didn't reach for Laura. Instead, her tiny hand reached up, her small fingers wrapping around Garrett’s thumb, squeezing it with surprising strength.

Garrett closed his eyes. A single, silent tear escaped his dark eyelashes, tracing a path down his sharp cheekbone before disappearing into his jawline.

He buried his face into the soft curls of his niece, breathing in the sweet smell of baby powder and fresh milk.

"I'm sorry, Maya," Garrett whispered into the quiet room, his voice choked with grief. "I'm so sorry I didn't protect you. But I swear to you... no one will ever hurt your daughter. I will give her the world."

Laura watched them, her heart aching with a profound, beautiful warmth. She saw past the terrifying mafia Don, past the ruthless killer the world feared, and saw the heart of a man who loved his family deeply enough to burn down cities for them.

Garrett opened his eyes, looking up from Clara to meet Laura’s gaze.

"You saved her," Garrett said, his gray eyes shining with an intense, unwavering sincerity. "You sacrificed your life, your career, your safety... you walked directly into the lion's den just to protect my sister's child."

"She deserved a chance at a real life," Laura replied softly, stepping closer, reaching up to gently pat Clara’s back as the baby rested her head against Garrett’s shoulder. "Not a life in the shadows, or as a pawn in a mob war."

"She won't be a pawn," Garrett promised, his gaze drifting down to Laura’s lips before returning to her eyes. "And neither will you."

He shifted Clara to one arm, using his free hand to reach out and cup the side of Laura’s face. His large, warm palm cradled her cheek, his thumb gently tracing the smooth line of her cheekbone.

Laura’s breath hitched. She felt the heat of his body, the intoxicating scent of cedarwood, leather, and rain that seemed to cling to him, and the undeniable magnetic pull pulling them together.

"You aren't going back to scrubbing floors, Laura," Garrett said softly, his voice dropping an octave, turning thick with an undeniable, simmering heat. "And you aren't leaving my side. Clara needs you... and I think I do too."

"Garrett..." Laura whispered, her hands resting against his solid chest, feeling the heavy, rapid thumping of his heart beneath the sweater. "Your world is dangerous. I'm just a nurse."

"You punched my fiancée in front of thirty people and walked into my study with a silver locket and no fear in your eyes," Garrett murmured, a dark, devastatingly handsome smirk touching his lips as he leaned down, his face inches from hers. "You aren't 'just' anything, Laura Beckett. You are the strongest woman I've ever met."

Before Laura could answer, Garrett’s satellite phone vibrated in his pocket.

He pulled back slightly, answering it without taking his hand off Laura’s cheek. "Speak."

Dominic’s voice came through the speaker, crisp and urgent. "Boss. We found Arthur Vane. He was trying to border-cross into Canada with ten million in cash. We have him at the dockside facility with Mateo and Celeste."