Page 16 of Mafia Daddy

The games have only just begun.

But tonight, at least, the board is mine.

“Good,” I say. “Very good.”

I rise and move into the kitchen, sleeves still rolled up. I crack two fresh eggs into simmering water, timing them perfectly so the whites set while the yolks remain runny. A couple of thick slices of sourdough go into the toaster.

Simple.

Comforting.

Exactly what my mother used to make for me when I was a boy sneaking back into the apartment long after curfew, eyes wide from whatever trouble I had found on the streets.

I slide the poached eggs onto the buttered toast, sprinkle a pinch of sea salt, cracked black pepper, and a touch of smoked paprika for depth. The plate looks almost too elegant for midnight, but that is how I do things.

I return and set it before the boy with a glass of cold water. “My mother used to prepare this when I was up late and needed something extra. Eat.”

Milo stares at the plate like it personally offended him. “I hate poached eggs. Yuck.”

I allow myself the faintest smile and sprinkle a little more paprika across the glistening yolks. “You have never eaten my eggs before.”

He gives me a withering look but picks up the fork anyway. The first hesitant poke breaks the yolk, golden liquid spilling over the toast. He takes a small bite, clearly expecting the worst.

Then another.

And another.

Within a minute he is devouring the plate with quiet determination, the reluctant tension in his shoulders easing as real hunger takes over.

When the last crumb is gone he sits back, surprised at himself. “Thank you,” he mutters, almost against his will.

“You are welcome.” I stand and clear the plate without comment. “And now it is bedtime.”

Milo rises slowly. “Can I have my phone back? Just for five minutes. I want to tell Charles I’m alive.”

“Not yet.” My tone leaves no room for negotiation. “Tomorrow we will discuss rules. And do not worry, over time we can think about relaxing the rules. But this will take trust, proven adherence to the rules, and will be entirely at my discretion. However I know how much you want to make this work, so that shouldn’t be a problem. But that is for later. As I said, we will talk more in the morning. Until then, you rest.”

The boy accepts it with a sullen nod—progress, however small—and trudges down the corridor toward his room. I watch the flexing of his ass cheeks until he disappears, the soft click of his door the only sound breaking the quiet.

I pull out my phone and message Michael on the encrypted line.

MAXIM: Dig deeper into Milo’s life before tonight. Social circle, habits, anything the initial reports missed. I suspect there are layers we haven’t seen yet. And we cannot leave anything to chance, not with a Lentini.

His reply comes within seconds.

MICHAEL: On it immediately. I’ll have a full dossier by morning. And I’ll keep going from there.

Satisfied, I hover my thumb over the surveillance app.

“Thinking of making any moves, boy?” I ask, my voice low and gruff.

Watching him like this so soon feels like the start of a dangerous habit. I should give the boy privacy. Let him settle. But the pull is too strong…

Milo has already changed into sleep shorts and a loose tank top. He slips under the covers, pulling that zebra stuffie tight against his chest. He curls around it protectively, knees drawn up, face half-buried in its fur. The defiant fire is gone for the moment; only exhaustion and a quiet vulnerability remain.

I watch as Milo’s breathing gradually slows, eyelids fluttering shut.

I stand in the living area, phone in hand, and watch until his body relaxes completely into sleep. Something protective—and possessive—stirs deep in my chest. This boy is far more complex than a simple bargaining chip…