Page 42 of Mafia Daddy

Maxim stands, looking down at me with that unreadable intensity that always makes my stomach flip. “Get dressed. Something comfortable but smart. We leave in an hour.”

With that, he leans down, brushes a surprisingly soft kiss against my forehead, and leaves the room.

I sit there wrapped in the towel for a long moment, heart racing, body still buzzing from the orgasm and the sheer overwhelming presence of him. Last night he made me suck him off in the kitchen and sent me to bed needy. This morning he caught me in the shower, made me put on a filthy show, rewarded me, and then carried me like I was something precious.

I have no idea what to do with any of it.

It’s a lot, that’s for sure.

But as I stand up on still-wobbly legs and start picking out clothes, one thing feels clearer than ever: Maxim Kovalev is slowly, deliberately, rewriting every rule I thought I knew.

And the scariest part is how much I’m starting to crave the new ones.

I pull on black jeans and an oversized sweater, run a brush through my damp hair, and glance at Zoop sitting on the pillow. He looks back at me with his stitched eyes, as if to say, You’re in so deep.

“Yeah,” I whisper, hugging him quickly. “I know.”

But when I step out of the bedroom and see Maxim waiting for me by the door—tall, composed, and watching me with that quiet hunger—I realize something else.

I’m not sure I want to climb back out.

13

MAXIM

“Now this is quite the place,” I say, a smile on my face.

The city’s largest department store rises like a monument to old-world elegance with marble floors polished to a mirror shine, gold-plated elevator doors gleaming under crystal chandeliers, and that unmistakable scent of luxury that only places like this still carry.

I rarely come here.

My world is back alleys, private clubs, and boardrooms where deals are sealed with handshakes and veiled threats.

But this morning, with Milo’s hand tucked securely in mine, I find myself walking through the toy department feeling something dangerously close to contentment.

Milo moves ahead of me with bright-eyed enthusiasm, his hair shimmering in the light as he darts between displays. He’s wearing the black jeans and oversized cream sweater he chose earlier, looking far too innocent for the things I did to him in the shower just a couple of hours ago.

Yet every time he glances back at me with that mischievous little smile, I remember exactly how he sounded riding that dildo while I watched.

“Look at this one!” Milo exclaims, holding up a deluxe wooden chess set with hand-carved pieces. “It’s way better than the one in your office. We could have proper games.”

I raise an eyebrow, but I’m already nodding. “Mine is a classic set. But… add it to the pile, this can be your practice board.”

The darling boy beams and hands it to the patiently waiting assistant who’s been trailing us with a rolling cart. The young man’s eyes widen slightly at the growing stack: board games, high-end art supplies, a ridiculous number of squishies in every shape and color, and a massive set of building blocks that Milo insisted were “for stress relief.”

I should feel ridiculous standing here among pastel displays and giggling children.

Instead, I’m surprised by how much I’m enjoying myself.

Milo’s excitement is contagious. I watch the boy pick up a set of premium watercolor paints and turn it over in his hands, biting his lip in concentration. Something warm and unfamiliar unfurls in my chest…

When was the last time I felt this… light?

Certainly not since I became Pakhan. My life has been strategy and survival for so long that genuine happiness feels almost foreign.

Milo catches me staring and tilts his head. “What? Am I buying too much?”

“Not at all,” I reply, stepping closer. I brush a stray lock of hair behind his ear, letting my fingers linger against his cheek. “Buy whatever you want. Today is for you.”