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 shrugs. “I

from the cooking area carrying a big plate of food. I stare at the long white butcher’s apron wrapped around his waist, the taut strings only serving to emphasize his trim figure, his broad

lip while I look at

of me. Shocked, I look back and forth from him to the plate, noting that his apron

a buttered slice of crusty Italian bread.

says. I whip my head up to see that

I am surprised.

he can’t cook his own breakfast,” Kent says, glancing around the room with a proud smile. “A breakfast he’d feed

nod and he looks up at his dad.

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

up, girl,” Kent says, heading

to eat, shaking my head at Daniel who

half cleared, Kent comes back with a tiny cappuccino that he slides next to my plate. I give him a smile in thanks and take a sip.

my eyes and savoring the taste of the bitter liquid that coats my tongue, balanced by

staring down at me, his

across my cheek and nose. Why is he looking at

B

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Gifts

12 – Breakfast

like it,” Kent says, his voice low,

say, hesitating. “Is

he says. “Adds notes of apricot and bitter

my mouth to wipe a little fleck of foam from my

watches me do it.

to hear anything except that

more captive than guest here. I’m fed good food not for my pleasure, but so that I’ll give my “father” a good report when he comes to

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

a finger on my cheek, firmly turning my face 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 voice slow and

laughs darkly at Daniel too.

head harshly. Kent’s fingers lose their

more polite to