The Mafia Boss’s Baby Wouldn’t Stop Crying—Until a Single Mother Did the Unthinkable
But even as Sarah said it, Marco let out a desperate cry, and she felt her body respond, milk letting down despite her emotional state. The baby sensed it too, rooting more frantically against her shirt.
Dominic saw her wince, saw the understanding in her eyes that her body was betraying her resolve.
«He needs you,» he said softly. «And like it or not, you need me now too. Because I promise you, Sarah Mitchell, the moment other families find out about this, your life will never be the same.»
Sarah looked down at the suffering infant in her arms, then back up at the dangerous man before her. Every rational part of her brain screamed to run, to get as far from this world as possible. But she was a nurse. She’d taken an oath to help those in need.
And this baby, this innocent child who’d lost his mother the day he was born, needed her desperately.
«One week,» she heard herself say. «I’ll stay one week. Help get him established on a bottle, work with a lactation consultant to find a solution. But then I’m gone, and you tell everyone I was just a temporary medical solution. No weird mafia marriage traditions, no sacred bonds, just a professional arrangement.»
Dominic’s expression was unreadable. «One week.»
«And I want it in writing. A contract that says I’m free to leave after seven days with no retaliation, no following me, no… no claiming me as some kind of property.»
«Done.» He pulled out his phone. «I’ll have my lawyer draw it up within the hour.»
Sarah nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She turned away from him, settling into the plush rocking chair positioned near the window. «Privacy,» she repeated.
This time Dominic left without argument, pulling the door closed behind him. Sarah heard him post someone outside. Of course he did. He probably had guards everywhere. But for now, she was alone with Marco.
«Okay, little one,» she whispered, unbuttoning her shirt with shaking hands. «Let’s get you fed.»
Marco latched on immediately, his desperate suckling gradually easing into the rhythmic pull of a satisfied infant. Sarah closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face as she rocked him. This was wrong on so many levels. She was feeding a crime lord’s baby, sitting in a mansion bought with blood money, trapped by traditions older than America itself.
But God, it felt right to have a baby in her arms again. To feel needed. To feel like maybe she could save this one, even though she’d failed to save Emma.
Outside the door, Dominic leaned against the wall, listening to the silence that meant his son was finally eating, finally at peace. He pulled out his phone and made a call.
«Luca, I need you here now. And bring the lawyer.» He paused, listening to his underboss’s response. «Because we have a situation. The baby has a wet nurse.»
He could practically hear Luca’s shock through the phone. In their world, everyone would know exactly what that meant.
«Yeah,» Dominic continued, his voice grim. «I know what the traditions say. That’s why we need the lawyer. I need to figure out how to protect her without…» He stopped, not wanting to voice what old ways would demand, what his grandfather would have insisted upon without question.
When a woman nurses a Don’s child, she becomes the Don’s wife. Not through ceremony or paperwork, but through an act older and more binding than any legal contract. Through the sacred act of sustaining the family’s heir.
Dominic had told Sarah he didn’t expect her to marry him. He didn’t believe in forcing women into anything. Traditions be damned. But he also knew that in the eyes of every old-school family from New York to Sicily, the moment Sarah Mitchell had put Marco to her breast, she’d become the Santoro family’s queen. Whether she wanted the crown or not.
And that meant Dominic had to protect her. He had to claim her publicly as being under his protection before rival families decided to make their own moves. He had to make it clear that touching Sarah Mitchell was tantamount to declaring war on the Santoro family. He just had to figure out how to do that without making her hate him in the process.
Inside the nursery, Sarah held Marco as he nursed, completely unaware that she’d just become the most valuable—and most dangerous—woman in the American underworld. Unaware that Dominic Santoro’s rivals were already making plans, seeing opportunity in this unexpected development. Unaware that the man outside that door was already falling for her, drawn to her courage and compassion in ways that terrified him.
Because in his world, love was a weakness. Love got people killed. But his son needed her. And increasingly, Dominic was realizing he needed her too.
«One week,» she’d said. Seven days to get Marco eating properly, and then she’d walk away.
Dominic stared at the closed nursery door and made a decision that would change everything. He’d give her the week. Let her think she could leave, let her feel safe enough to lower her guard. And in that time, he’d show her that despite the darkness of his world, despite the blood on his hands, he could be what she and Marco needed.
Because one week wasn’t going to be enough. Not nearly enough. For any of them.
Four days into Sarah’s one week, the mansion had become a strange kind of home. She’d been given a bedroom suite adjacent to the nursery, «for convenience,» Teresa had explained, though Sarah suspected it was more about keeping her close and secure. The rooms were beautiful, decorated in soft creams and golds, with a bathroom that had a tub large enough to swim in.
Everything screamed luxury, comfort, and captivity.
Sarah spent most of her time in the nursery with Marco, feeding him every three hours, learning his rhythms, watching him slowly regain the healthy flush that babies should have. Dominic was there for almost every feeding, sitting in the corner chair like a silent guardian, watching his son nurse with an expression that twisted Sarah’s heart. He never pressured her, never crossed lines, but his presence was constant and increasingly magnetic.
«He’s gaining weight,» Sarah said on the fourth evening, Marco sleeping peacefully in her arms after his feeding. «Another few days and he’ll be strong enough to try transitioning to expressed milk in bottles.»
«Good.»
But Dominic’s tone didn’t sound pleased. He looked tense, wound tight, his jaw locked in that way she was starting to recognize meant he was holding something back.
«What’s wrong?»
«We need to talk.» He stood, moving to close the nursery door more firmly. «About the situation.»
Sarah’s stomach dropped. «What situation?»
«Word got out.» He ran a hand through his hair, messing the perfectly styled black strands. «About you. About what you’re doing for Marco. Three families have already reached out, making inquiries.»
«Inquiries?»
«Polite ways of asking if I’ve claimed you formally.» His eyes met hers, dark and intense. «If you’re under my protection as just an employee or as something more.»
«And what did you tell them?»
«That you’re mine.» The words came out rough, possessive. «That anyone who touches you answers to me.»
Sarah should have been angry, should have railed against being called «his.» But something about the fierce protectiveness in his voice made her feel safe instead of trapped.
«So I’m a prisoner here.»
«You’re protected here.» Dominic moved closer, and Sarah’s pulse quickened. «There’s a difference. You can leave. I signed the contract, remember? But if you leave, I can’t guarantee your safety. The Moretti family has already made noises about wanting to meet the woman nursing the Santoro heir.»
«Why would they want to meet me?»
«Because you’re valuable.» He stopped just short of touching her, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. «In the old ways, the woman who nurses the Don’s child holds almost as much power as the Don himself. She’s sacred, protected, and…» He hesitated.
«And what?»
«And if something happened to me, you and Marco would be the logical successors to control the family.»
The words fell like stones between them.
«That makes you dangerous to my rivals and valuable to my allies.»
Sarah’s arms tightened around the sleeping baby. «This is insane.»
«This is my world.» Dominic’s voice softened. «I’m sorry you got pulled into it. But Sarah?» He paused, seeming to wrestle with something. «I’m not sorry you’re here.»
The confession hung in the air between them, charged and dangerous. Sarah’s breath caught as she watched emotions flicker across his usually controlled face. Vulnerability. Want. Something that looked dangerously like affection.
«Dominic…»
«Let me finish.» He cut her off gently. «These past four days, watching you with my son, seeing him peaceful and healthy because of you? Sarah, you gave us both something I thought was lost forever. A chance at normal. At family.»
«I’m not your family. I’m just helping.»
«You are family.» He reached out slowly, telegraphing his movements so she could pull away if she wanted. When she didn’t, his hand cupped her cheek with surprising gentleness. «The moment you fed Marco, you became family. Maybe not in the legal sense, maybe not in the way the modern world understands, but in the ways that matter to me, to my son… you’re already ours.»
Sarah knew she should pull away. She should remind him about their agreement. About the three days she had left before leaving. She should definitely not be leaning into his touch like a flower towards sunlight.
«This can’t happen,» she whispered. But her body betrayed her words, swaying closer to him.
«Why not?» His thumb stroked her cheekbone, and Sarah felt the calluses there—evidence that this man wasn’t just a suit-wearing executive, but someone who knew how to use his hands, how to fight, how to survive.
«Because you’re dangerous. Because your world is violent and dark and I’ve already lost…» Her voice broke. «I can’t lose anyone else. I can’t watch someone else die.»
Understanding flooded Dominic’s expression. «Emma.»
Sarah flinched. «How do you know about…?»
«I had you investigated.» He said it without apology. «The moment you offered to feed Marco on that plane, I had my people pull everything about you. I know about your daughter, about the SIDS diagnosis, about the fact that you haven’t worked since it happened, that you’ve been in grief counseling, that you’re rebuilding a life that feels impossible to rebuild.»
Sarah should have been furious about the invasion of privacy. She should have slapped him and stormed out. But instead, she felt oddly relieved that he knew, that she didn’t have to explain the gaping wound in her heart.
«Then you understand why this can’t be more than a temporary arrangement,» she said softly. «Why I can’t get attached to Marco or to…» She stopped, unable to finish.
«Or to me.» Dominic’s jaw clenched. «Sarah, I know loss. I watched Isabella die bringing our son into the world. Watched her life fade away while doctors tried everything to save her. I held her hand as the light left her eyes, knowing that I was losing my wife and my son was losing his mother before he’d even taken his first breath.»
Tears streamed down Sarah’s face. «I’m so sorry.»
«Don’t be sorry. Just… don’t write us off because you’re scared.» He leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching hers. «These past few days I’ve watched you be so brave. Brave enough to feed a stranger’s child. Brave enough to walk into a world you didn’t understand. Brave enough to love my son even knowing you’d have to leave him. Don’t tell me you’re too scared to try.»
«Try what?» Sarah’s voice was barely a whisper. «This?»
And then he was kissing her.
It was gentle at first, a soft press of lips that asked permission rather than demanding surrender. Sarah froze for half a heartbeat, Marco still sleeping in her arms, every rational thought screaming that this was wrong. But then Dominic’s hand slid into her hair, and she melted into the kiss like she was coming home. He tasted like whiskey and danger and something uniquely him that made her head spin.
His other hand came up to cradle her face, holding her like she was precious, like she was sacred. The kiss deepened, and Sarah felt sixteen years of walls crumbling around her heart. When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Dominic rested his forehead against hers.
«Stay,» he whispered. «Not for a week. Stay.»
«I can’t.»
«You can.» His voice was fierce now, desperate. «Marco needs you. I need you. And unless I’m completely misreading things, you need us too.»
Sarah looked down at the sleeping baby in her arms, then back up at the dangerous, beautiful man offering her a life she’d never imagined. A life that terrified her, a life that somehow felt more real than anything she’d experienced in months.
