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.

looks around and

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

at him,

says, laying the plate in front of me. Shocked, I look back and forth from him to the plate, noting that

and peppers, accompanied by a buttered slice of crusty Italian bread. It looks

says. I whip my head up to

am

Italian can’t call himself a man if he can’t cook his own breakfast,” Kent says, glancing around the room with a proud smile. “A breakfast he’d feed his mother, at that.”

asks, leaning forward. I nod and he looks up at his

Orione espresso machine in

says, heading back to

fork and eagerly start to eat, shaking my head at Daniel

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

my eyes and savoring the taste of the bitter liquid that coats

see Kent staring down at me, his eyes somehow… hungry.

cheek and nose. Why is he looking at me

B

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Gifts

12 – Breakfast

you like it,” Kent says, his voice low, possessive.

hesitating. “Is there

says. “Adds notes of apricot and

raise my thumb to my mouth to wipe a

me

hear anything except that you

plate as I remember that I’m more captive than guest here. I’m fed good food

dad’s breakfast,” I murmur, suddenly angry. At Kent, but also

one father now, Fay. You have no ‘dad.‘ Though if you’re really missing it,” he smirks cruelly at me

darkly at Daniel too.

turn my head harshly. Kent’s fingers lose their grip.

say, my voice shaking with anger and embarrassment, “you should be more polite to me. I’m sure