Page 29 of Texting My Mafia Boss

“Mara,” she says.

“Hmm?”

“Do you think my mommy liked ballet?”

“Do you remember if she said anything about it?”

“Mommy died when I was little, before I can remember anything.”

Foot—meet mouth. “I’m sorry, Sylvie.”

“Do you?” she presses.

“I don’t know,” I murmur. “I think you should ask your daddy about that.”

“Yeah.” She looks out the window. “Maybe I will.”

When we arrive at the store, I park and go to the backseat. I open the door and kneel, looking sternly at Sylvie. “You need to stay in my sight at all times,” I say. “And you’ve got the phone, yeah?”

She reaches into her pocket, proudly displaying the simple black phone Livia gave me for her. It has my number programmed into it.

“If I get lost, I call you or Daddy. I do that by pressing the down button and clicking on your name with the green button.”

I nod. “Exactly.”

“No more of this face now.” She makes an overly exaggerated worried face that makes me laugh. “Can we go? Please?”

I take her hand and lead her inside. I watch her as she walks up and down the aisles, talking confidently with the staff. They know her here, so it makes it easier. But I still make sure to keep an eye on her. We spend some time picking out shoes and a tiara for her to wear, then walk toward the car.

“Want to get some food somewhere?” I ask. “A burger? Something tasty.”

She grins. “Uh,duh.”

“Mara?”

The voice makes me freeze. Surely I’m imagining this. Callum, here?

I quickly open the car door. “In the car, please.”

Sylvie looks at me, disappointed. “Why?”

“Just wait in the car. Two minutes.”

She climbs inside. I close then lock it, then turn toward the voice.

Callum, my ex, wearing a letterman jacket with a mountain of product on his brown hair. He’s handsome, or so everybody was keen to tell me when we were together. I thought the same at the beginning. Before his personality turned him ugly.

I move away when he tries to hug me. I would’ve sunk into that embrace once. Not because I truly cared, but because I was desperate for belonging. Eager for anybody to notice me. To see me as a real person. And Callum was great at pretending to be that man.

“Okay, woah. Chill.”

“Hi,” I mutter.

“You’re acting like I’m some monster, Maddy. Relax.”

“I’ve told you not to call me Maddy,” I say, voice tired. When he smirks, I’m annoyed at myself. He always had a way of making me feel two inches tall.

I’ve always hated when he insisted on calling me Maddy, it’s not even my name. I once made the mistake of telling him that, only for him to fly into a rage before telling meIwas overreacting.