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.

around and

area carrying a big plate of food. I stare at the

I’m biting my lower lip while I look at him, I quickly spit it out and close my mouth.

morning, Fay,” Kent says, laying the plate in front of me. Shocked, I look back and forth from him to the

and peppers, accompanied by a buttered slice of crusty

my head up to see

I am

if he can’t cook his own breakfast,” Kent says, glancing around

and he looks up at

his eyes to a gigantic vintage Gaggia Orione espresso machine in the corner. My jaw drops – it’s probably the

heading back to the kitchen.

pick up my fork and eagerly start to eat, shaking my head at Daniel who just laughs.

my plate is half cleared, Kent comes back with a tiny cappuccino that he slides next to

of the bitter liquid that coats my tongue, balanced by the sweetness of

I see Kent staring down at

and nose. Why

B

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Gifts

Breakfast

you like it,” Kent says,

say, hesitating. “Is there

notes of

his gaze while I raise my thumb to my mouth

watches me

anything except that you

more captive than guest here. I’m fed good food not for my pleasure, but so that I’ll

breakfast,” I murmur, suddenly angry.

have one father now, Fay. You have no ‘dad.‘ Though if you’re really missing it,” he smirks cruelly at me here, his voice slow and luxurious, “you can always call

laughs darkly at

Kent’s

respect you,” I say, my voice shaking with anger and embarrassment, “you should be more polite to me. I’m sure my father won’t like to hear that I’ve been disrespected