Forbidden Temptation My Mafia Fiance's Alpha Father

Chapter 22

Chapter 22 Brooklyn

I spend a restless night in my new room. When the clock reads 7:00a.m., 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 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 hallway and push through the 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.

My stomach growls, and Lena paws at me a bit.

"Brooklyn!" Hudson says, spotting me from across the room. His face lights up. I can't help returning his smile, he's so cute and genuine.

eyes scanning the busy room as I hurry

he asks, giving me a happy grin and sitting back down in his place at

for me, giving a big growl

we'll get you something."

just buzzing with people. Guys in suits drinking tiny cups of espresso, guards

didn't grow up with a pack, and even though this isn't a pack, either, there's a "pack"

along in

it's so busy in here,"

around and shrugs.

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

it out and close my mouth. "Good morning, Brooklyn," Aden says, setting the plate in front of me. Shocked,

you make this?" On the plate, scrambled eggs sit

a buttered slice of crusty Italian bread. It

head up

Truly, I am surprised.

Italian can't call himself a man if he can't cook his own breakfast," Aden says, glancing around the room with a

coffee?" Hudson asks, leaning forward. I nod, and he looks up at his dad. "She takes cappuccino.

done,” Aden says, and I follow his eyes to a gigantic vintage Gaggia Orione