Page 44 of Mafia Daddy

Milo doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans closer as we walk, his shoulder brushing my arm. The city moves around us—honking taxis, rushing pedestrians, the endless pulse of life—but for these few moments, none of it matters.

I’ve spent years building an empire on control and calculation. But walking through this grand old department store with Milo’s hand in mine, watching him light up over board games and squishies, I feel something I haven’t allowed myself in a very long time.

Hope.

The large city park stretches out before us like a green oasis carved into the steel and concrete heart of the city. Tall oaks sway in the brisk breeze, their leaves whispering overhead as Milo and I walk along one of the winding paths.

The boy cradles a large cup of hot chocolate between his gloved hands, the steam curling up around his face. I sip my black coffee, strong and bitter the way I like it, but right now even that familiar sharpness can’t cut through the unexpected warmth blooming in my chest.

The breeze nips at our faces, carrying the faint scent of fallen leaves and distant street food vendors, but I barely feel the cold.

Milo walks close beside me, his shoulder occasionally brushing my arm.

Every few steps Milo takes a careful sip of his drink, leaving a tiny chocolate mustache on his upper lip that he doesn’t seem to notice. The sight is so disarmingly sweet it makes something inside me twist in a way I’m not used to.

I’ve walked through this park before for late-night meetings, surveillance routes, the occasional quiet moment to clear my head after blood had been spilled. But never like this. Never with a boy whose hand fits so perfectly in mine, whose laughter still echoes in my ears from the toy department earlier.

Milo glances up at me, his dark eyes bright against the cool autumn air.

“Will you be around tonight? I was thinking we could try out some of the new board games they’re delivering. I saw this really complicated strategy one that looked like it might actually challenge you.”

Milo’s tone is light, hopeful, but there’s a vulnerability underneath it that tugs at me. I take another sip of coffee to buy myself a second.

“I will try,” I tell him honestly. “But my world usually comes alive at night. There are always fires to put out, deals to monitor, people who only speak when the sun goes down. I may need to go out.”

The boy sighs, the sound small but heavy. The breeze catches his hair, blowing a strand across his face. I reach over and brush it out of his eyes. His cheeks flush from more than just the cold.

“I can arrange for Yuri to come keep you company,” I add. “But only on the understanding that you don’t try to trick him again. No more stolen phones, Milo. I mean it.”

He smiles that mischievous, slightly guilty smile that always makes me want to both punish and kiss him. “I’ll try my best to behave. Should it come to that.”

I can’t help it. I laugh. It’s a low, genuine sound that surprises even me. The boy has guts and a sense of humor about his own chaos.

And it’s dangerously endearing.

We continue walking side by side, the path curving gently around a small pond where ducks paddle lazily despite the chill. The warmth in my chest grows stronger, spreading through my veins like good vodka. Happiness. Not the fleeting kind that comes from a successful deal or a well-executed strike, but something quieter. Deeper.

For the first time in years, I’m not calculating escape routes or scanning rooftops for threats. I’m simply walking through a park with a beautiful, complicated young man who is starting to feel less like a strategic asset and more like… mine.

We reach the edge of the park where the trees thin out and the city skyline reappears. I stop walking and turn to face Milo, pulling him gently into my arms. He comes willingly, his hot chocolate cup pressed between us as he tilts his head up.

“I’m determined to make this work, Milo,” I say quietly, my voice low enough that only he can hear it. “However that might look for us. I’m not a gentle man. My life is complicated and often violent. But with you… I want to try.”

Milo’s eyes soften. The romantic charge between us crackles like electricity in the brisk air. He rises onto his toes. I meet him halfway.

Our lips meet in a slow, deep kiss right there on the edge of the park, surrounded by the distant sounds of the city and the rustle of leaves. He tastes like chocolate and warmth and something uniquely him.

My hand slides to the small of the sweet boy’s back, pulling him closer.

For a perfect moment the world narrows to just this… his soft mouth, his fingers curling into my coat, the way he melts against me like he was made to fit there.

Then my instincts scream at me.

Something is off.

I pull back sharply, every muscle tensing as I scan our surroundings. The breeze carries the faint scent of cigarette smoke that doesn’t belong… too close, too deliberate.

A shadow moves unnaturally behind a cluster of trees to our left.