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 shrugs. “I

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

realize I’m biting my lower lip while I look at him, I quickly spit

laying the plate in front of me. Shocked, I look back and forth from him to the plate, noting that his apron is spotted with

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

my head up to see

am surprised.

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

want some coffee?” Daniel asks, leaning forward. I nod and he looks up at

done,” Kent says and I follow his eyes to a gigantic vintage Gaggia Orione espresso machine in the corner. My jaw drops – it’s

heading

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

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

of the bitter liquid that coats my tongue,

see Kent staring down at

cheek and nose. Why is he looking at me like

B

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12 – Breakfast with

says,

do,” I say, hesitating. “Is there

he says. “Adds notes of apricot and

I raise my thumb to my mouth to wipe a little fleck of foam from my

watches me do it.

to hear anything except that you

good food not for my

good as my dad’s breakfast,” I murmur, suddenly angry. At Kent, but also at myself.

on my cheek, firmly turning my face back towards the Mafia King. “You only have one father now, Fay. You have no

laughs darkly at Daniel too.

my head harshly. Kent’s

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