THE LITTLE GIRL ASKED TO SIT WITH A STRANGER—BUT HER MOTHER NEVER EXPECTED THE MAFIA BOSS TO RECOGNIZE HER FACE

from the tablecloth.

“Leave her, Marcus.”

Marcus paused.

His eyes moved over the child once.

Then again.

Something flickered there.

Recognition.

Or calculation.

Then it disappeared.

Damen did not see it.

Neither did the girl.

He pulled out the chair across from him.

“Sit down.”

She blinked, as if the chair might be a trap, then climbed into it carefully. The backpack continue reading …