Behind him, two other men in dark suits entered, their hands already inside their coats.

“Drop the gun,” Leo said.

His voice was entirely flat, devoid of any anger or hesitation.

The second man with the black pistol froze, his eyes darting between Leo and the large glass front window of the cafe.

“I won’t say it a second time,” Leo added, his gaze fixed on the shooter.

The scarred man sneered, but he raised his hands slowly.

“This is syndicate business,” the scarred man said. “The woman’s husband signed over her name to the Valenti family.”

“She is not his wife,” Leo said, stepping fully into the warm light of the cafe. “And she is under the protection of the Russo family.”

The man with the gun lowered his weapon, placing it carefully on the wooden table nearest to him.

Leo’s men moved with practiced efficiency, securing the weapons and pushing the two intruders face-first against the tiled wall.

My knees felt weak.

I placed my palm flat against the counter to steady myself, my other hand instinctively moving to rest on my lower stomach.