Page 3 of Mafia Daddy

“Good morning,” I mutter, stretching my arms above my head and clasping my hands together. “Here’s to another day of peace.”

I allow myself a sly grin. I know that even in times of truce in the city, there is always the stench of death and mayhem just around the corner. In fact, the longer things go without a high profile killing or kidnapping, the more likely it is to happen the next day. That’s just the world I live in. And no amount of strategizing or diplomacy is going to change that.

But this deal with the Lentini family? It’s not nothing.

The Lentini clan have long been a thorn in my side. They’re aggressive, territorial, and have a long history of wildcard bosses and generals who are prone to acting way outside the normal protocols. In other words, they more often than not have brought plenty of unwanted drama into the city.

However under their new boss Paolo Lentini, things have changed. Slowly but surely they have managed to ease out the old guard, the men who shot first and asked questions later. Paolo has modernized the way the family operates and expanded them into more legitimate business.

I’m not saying that we’re likely to cross that Russian and Italian divide fully any time soon. Certainly, I don’t think I’ll be vacationing with Paolo and his family or hitting the gym together for a workout. But I do think that a long term agreement between us will help strengthen both of our respective positions.

If the Kovalev family can rise to the top of the Russian hierarchy, and the Lentini family do the same with the Italians, then I see absolutely no reason why either one of us would want to break the truce or do anything to jeopardize our hold on the city.

A wave of optimism washes over me as I drop down into a squat and gently open out my hips. I might be in my forties now, but I’m still flexible enough to give a man half my age a run for his money.

I let out a light grunt as I rock from side to side, my elbows high on my inner thighs as I feel the stretch. This is all part of my morning routine, another one of my non-negotiables.

“Enough,” I say, springing up from my deep squat and walking out of the bedroom and pacing down to the kitchen. “Time for a fucking strong coffee.”

And as my espresso squirts out of the machine, my mind flips back to the images of the boy that Michael sent over to me late last night. Despite being part of the Lentini family, there are a surprisingly high amount of images of him out there online. Club night launches, gallery openings, all the usual places that a young city boy would be spotted.

His name is Milo Pirlo-Lentini, he’s Paolo’s nephew, and from what my intel says he is twenty-three years old, dropped out of Harvard, and likes to spend his trust fund on cars, clothes, and partying.

I let out a sigh.

Milo might be a handful.

But I’ll keep him in check, that’s for sure. And despite his youthful partygoing ways, I’ll be extra vigilant about the potential for all this being some kind of trap.

Milo is young, pretty, and full of life. But if I pick up the slightest hint that he’s part of a conspiracy against me, then I’ll make sure that he won’t be full of any life for a single second longer.

The formal agreement between Paolo and myself will be made later today. Midnight in fact. Milo will be present for the handover. And when I take his hand in mine, there will be no going back for either of us…

2

MILO

“Fuck this!” I shout, stomping my foot on the floor and running up the stairs of my duplex apartment. “Uncle Paolo thinks he can make me do whatever he wants? No. He doesn’t know me well enough!”

“Milo! Language!” my mother shouts, her footsteps not long following mine before she enters my bedroom. “This is business. This is how the family works. It is how it has always worked. How do you think I met and then married your father? God rest his soul.”

“Argh. I don’t care,” I protest. “That was a hundred years ago. I’m twenty-three. I don’t want to live with a fucking stranger.”

“I won’t warn you again, Milo,” my mother says, her voice suddenly cold and full of intent. “Mind your language. I am your mother, you do not speak to me like that. This is happening. There is no way to change it. You know what your uncle is like. He is a very different man to your father. They might have been brothers, but where your father was wild and reckless, Paolo is not. He is calm, with ice in his veins. And he doesn’t give warnings or second chances, no matter who crosses him. Do you understand?”

I can see from the look in my mother’s eyes that she isn’t kidding around.

I’ve heard the stories about my father from so many of his old associates and soldiers. Poppa was a maverick. As ruthless as he could be with his enemies, he was full of love and warmth for his friends, even when they let him down. And in the end, it was this kind of trust and forgiveness that got him killed.

Uncle Paolo? He is a whole other thing. From the moment he took over the family after my father’s murder, everything was different. Within weeks, any dissenting voices against Paolo were silenced. And after that, Paolo set about eliminating the kind of men who my father favored too. Anyone who wasn’t ultra disciplined or had any kind of heart was disposed of, and sometimes in the most horrible of ways too.

I miss my father.

I miss how the fun the family was with him in charge.

And I miss how my mother used to be so full of life and laughter too. Since uncle Paolo took control, my mother has stopped voicing her opinion about business, especially when Paolo or his closest allies are nearby. All she does is agree with everything that Paolo says and then puts it down to family loyalty.

But I can see that she’s not kidding about this situation right now.