Fall For My Ex’s Mafia Father

Chapter 12 – Breakfast with Daddy–1

I spend a restless night in my new room. When the clock reads 7:00, a knock comes at my door and it opens without waiting

for a response. I glare and make a mental note to somehow get a lock.

“Ah! You’re awake.” The same woman who dressed me last night bustles into the room. “You’re already late, my dear.”

“Seven?” I ask, looking at the clock again. “Seven is late?”

“The household starts at five,” she says, coming over and starting to make the bed while I’m still in it.

When I head for the door in my pajamas, she makes a small noise of warning. I look back at her. “You’ll want to change, my dear,” she says. “This house dresses for its meals.”

No one is downstairs in the hall when, dressed in tight fawn–colored pants and a silky green sweater, I walk down the stairs. I hear some noise at the end of the hall and push through the little door there.

I blink in surprise as I suddenly find myself in a gigantic kitchen filled with people. There are mismatched tables scattered all around and, behind a low wall, a restaurant–sized cooking range. From it wafts the scent of breakfast foods – sharp with onions and rich with butter.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, giving me a happy grin and sitting back down in his place at a small table.

“Um,” I say – honestly, when was the last time I ate – but my stomach answers for me, giving a big growl.

He laughs lightly as I sit. “Good, we’ll get you something.” He raises a hand to signal someone by the cooking range.

The room is just buzzing with people. Guys in suits drinking tiny cups of espresso, guards pass with guns – big guns – passing through, housekeeping staff on their way to their jobs.

–

Everyone is chatting happily, moving along in what is clearly a

well–oiled machine.

“Wow, it’s so busy in here,” I say, staring around at everyone.

and

a big plate of food. I stare at the long white butcher’s apron wrapped around his waist, the taut strings only serving to

I look at him, I quickly spit

front of me. Shocked, I look back and forth from

to sausage and peppers, accompanied by a buttered slice of crusty Italian bread.

my head up to see that

I am

he can’t cook his own breakfast,” Kent says, glancing around the room with a proud

coffee?” Daniel asks, leaning forward. I nod and he looks up at his dad. “She takes cappuccino. Is anyone free

a gigantic vintage Gaggia Orione espresso machine in the corner. My jaw drops – it’s probably the most gorgeous thing I’ve

heading

start to eat,

with a tiny cappuccino that he slides next to my plate. I give him a

lean back in my chair, closing my eyes and savoring the taste of the bitter liquid that coats my tongue, balanced

when I see Kent staring down at me, his eyes

cheek and nose. Why is he

B

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12 – Breakfast with

says, his

hesitating. “Is there

he says. “Adds notes of apricot and bitter

while I raise my thumb to my mouth to

me do

want Alden to hear anything except that

I’m more captive than guest here. I’m fed good food

breakfast,” I murmur, suddenly

back towards the Mafia King. “You only have one father now, Fay. You have no ‘dad.‘ Though if you’re really missing it,” he smirks cruelly at me here, his

darkly at Daniel too.

Kent’s fingers lose their grip.

embarrassment, “you should be more polite to me. I’m sure my father won’t like