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

went into her lap. Her small hands folded on top of it, one knuckle over another, so neatly that it hurt to look at.

Someone had taught her not to take up too much space.

“What’s your name?” Damen asked.

His voice gentled without his permission.

“Lily, sir,” she said. “Lily Whitmore.”

Whitmore.

The name struck something buried deep inside him.

Damen held continue reading …