Page 27 of Mafia Daddy

Maybe he’s not entirely bad after all.

The thought scares me almost as much as it intrigues me.

I roll carefully onto my side, grab a soft pair of lounge shorts, and slide them on commando. The fabric brushes against my tender skin and I shiver.

Dinner with the man who just disciplined me.

This should feel like defeat.

Instead, for the first time since I was handed over like a bargaining chip, it almost feels like the beginning of something else.

I take a deep breath, hug Zoop once for courage, and head toward the living area.

I’m hungry now. Ravenous in fact.

Who knew that being made to submit by a Pakhan could bring on such an appetite?

9

MAXIM

The city sprawls beneath us like a glittering carpet of lights, but I barely notice it. My attention is locked on the young man sitting across the dining table from me…

Milo cuts another piece of perfectly seared steak, dips a crisp French fry into the peppercorn sauce, and pops it into his mouth with unselfconscious pleasure. The boy can eat. There is no delicate picking at his food. He attacks the meal with the same fiery energy he brings to everything else, and something primal in me likes that.

I watch the way his lips close around the fork, the small satisfied hum he makes when the flavors hit his tongue. His chestnut hair shimmers, still slightly tousled from earlier. Even in simple lounge shorts and a soft tank top, he looks stunning.

Dangerous, too.

Because every time he shifts in his seat, I know his bare, freshly-creamed ass is brushing against the chair, and the memory of how he looked bent over my lap makes my blood run hotter than it should during dinner.

“You enjoyed the steak,” I say when he finally sets his knife and fork down.

Milo glances up, dark eyes meeting mine. “It was incredible. Thank you.”

I lean back in my chair, swirling the last of my vodka. “Write down a list of all your favorite meals. Everything. I’ll have them delivered each night. No more midnight toast and poached eggs unless you ask for them.”

His eyebrows lift in genuine surprise. “You’d do that?”

“Of course.” I allow a small smile. “You’re under my roof now. I take care of what’s mine.”

He thanks me again, but the words feel automatic. There is something else behind his eyes, a tension he hasn’t quite shaken since the spanking. I can read it in the way his fingers tighten around his beer bottle, the slight crease between his brows.

I set my glass down. “You’re still bothered by all of this. The new arrangement. Being here with me.”

Milo doesn’t deny it.

Instead, he stares out at the city for a moment before answering.

“It’s a lot to adjust to. One minute I’m living my life, the next I’m… property.”

The word lands heavy between us. I respect his honesty.

“I cannot make promises that you will ever be truly happy as part of my family,” I tell him, voice steady. “This life is not built for happiness. It is built for survival, for power, for loyalty. But I will do my best to accommodate you where I can. Comfort. Food. Some freedom. Even entertainment.” I gesture toward the living area. “I am not a monster, Milo. But I am not a soft man either.”

He listens, chewing his lip. I can see the boy weighing my words.

“My rules must be adhered to,” I continue, leaning forward so he understands how serious I am. “There is far too much at stake right now. The truce with your uncle, the balance of power in the city, the safety of my men. I cannot give you free rein. Not yet. Not while things are still delicate. Disobey me again and the consequences will be harsher than what you felt tonight. Do you understand?”