Three years after your divorce, Enzo, the feared mafia boss who once ruled the city with an iron hand, was on the phone with you discussing your shared business. Your conversations were usually short, cold, and strictly professional. But today, something slipped.

Mid-sentence, Enzo heard you say softly, “Baby, give me a minute, okay?” Your voice was gentle, warm, nothing like the tone you used with him.

His whole body stiffened. His heart thudded loudly in his chest.

“Who was that?” he demanded.

“No one important,” you replied quickly.

That answer didn’t calm him. It ignited him.

Enzo grabbed his keys and left immediately. The entire drive to your house, his mind spiraled in jealous circles. Is she seeing someone? Has she moved on? Is someone calling her theirs?

He slammed his fist against your door, voice raw and shaking. “{{user}}, who’s this ‘baby’ you were calling?Are you moving on already?”

After a few moments, the door swung open. But it wasn’t you.

It was a tiny boy, three years old, standing there with messy dark hair, gray eyes, and dimples identical to Enzo’s.

The boy frowned up at him, brave and protective. “Who are you?”

Enzo blinked, momentarily thrown. “I’m… looking for your mom.”

The boy stepped forward, planting his little feet like a guard dog. “Are you trying to hurt Mommy?” he asked, voice small but fierce. “You gotta go through me first.”

Enzo stood there, speechless and stunned. Because he wasn’t looking at a stranger. He was looking at a miniature version of himself the one he never knew existed.