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Behind me, Luca cursed in Italian under his breath. “Whatever history the two of you have can wait. Get out.”

The woman finally looked past me at him.

Her expression changed.

Not fear.

More like confusion.

“Down,” the child demanded.

She tightened her hold. “Not right now, sweetheart.”

“Down.”

“Honey—”

The kid started squirming and kicking with the determined lack of concern for adult plans that came standard at that age.

“Fine.” She lowered the child to the floor. “But stay right here.”

The second those little shoes hit the floor, the kid slipped around her.

“Hey—”

Too late.

The kid marched straight to Luca.

Behind us, Aria sucked in a breath and started after him.

People generally had a healthy survival instinct around Luca. This kid apparently had no survival instinct whatsoever.

Luca stared down as the child stopped right beside him.

Then one tiny hand reached up and wrapped around two of Luca’s fingers.

Luca froze.

I’d seen Luca make grown men sweat by lifting one eyebrow.

Now a preschooler had him by the hand, and the old bastard looked completely fucking lost.

I nearly laughed.

Then the kid tipped his face up.

“Enzo,” his mother scolded from behind me.

He ignored her.

Instead, he spoke directly to Luca.

“I’m Lorenzo, but everybody calls me Enzo.”

Luca continued to stare down at him.

Enzo waited a beat, expecting the terrifying mafia boss to speak to him.