Page 116 of The Mafia's Christmas Baby
He holds my eyes.
“No one touches you,” he says. “No one touches my kid. I swear it on my blood.”
The way he says it is plain.
No ceremony.
No crowd.
It still lands in the center of me.
The anger does not vanish, but it stops shaking.
I sit across from him and wipe my face with the heel of my hand.
He does not reach for me.
He waits.
We look at each other like we are trying to learn a new language without a book.
“What happens next?” I ask. My voice is rough. “Say it cleanly.”
“Doctor in the morning,” he says. “Your choice. I will wait outside or I will sit in the room if you want me there. After, I change the rotation. Different car. Different doors. I tell the two people who keep secrets for a living and I keep it out of everyone else’s mouth until you are ready. When the time comes, I tell the elders in a way that makes it clear there is a line around you. Anyone who crosses it answers to me.”
I nod. It's the first plan tonight that sounds like something I can stand in.
His phone buzzes on the table.
He does not look at it.
It buzzes again.
He glances at the screen and all the heat drains out of his face.
“What?” I ask, my heart mirroring his panic.
He turns the phone so I can see the text.
Marco near St. Adrian’s. Side entrance.
22
NICO
The next day
I’m at her door before sunrise with a car I trust and two men who don’t miss.
Rafe takes the wheel.
Tino rides the block behind in a plain sedan.
I run them through Elisa’s full schedule—entrances, exits, lunch runs, the alley she uses when it rains.
No heroics.
No chatter.
