Page 45 of Mafia Daddy

My hand tightens on Milo’s waist.

“Maxim?” he whispers, looking shocked and a little dazed from the kiss.

“We can’t stick around,” I say, voice low and urgent. “We have to move. Now. Quickly.”

I don’t wait for questions. I tuck Milo against my side, shielding him with my body as I guide him toward the busier path that leads back to the main street.

My eyes never stop moving: rooftops, alley mouths, the faces of passersby. The pleasant warmth in my chest has been replaced by cold, familiar focus.

Someone was watching us. Maybe taking pictures. Maybe worse.

Milo stays close, his earlier playfulness gone. He doesn’t argue or ask stupid questions… another point in his favor. The boy simply keeps pace, his hand gripping my coat tightly.

I pull out my phone with my free hand and fire off a quick message to Michael and Kobek:

MAXIM: Park surveillance. Possible tail. Increase security on apartment and sweep the route home.

We reach the edge of the park where my driver is already waiting with the Escalade, alerted by the subtle signal I gave him earlier. I bundle Milo into the back seat and slide in after him, slamming the door shut.

“Home,” I tell the driver. “Take the long way. Watch for tails.”

As the SUV pulls smoothly into traffic, I turn to Milo. His cheeks are still flushed from the kiss, but his eyes are wide with concern now.

“What happened?” he asks quietly.

I reach over and take his hand again, squeezing it once. “Someone was watching us. I don’t know who yet, but I will find out.”

The boy nods, accepting it without hysteria. Another small victory. Most people in this scenario would be panicking. Milo simply leans his head against my shoulder, his hot chocolate long forgotten in the cupholder.

The warmth I felt earlier hasn’t disappeared entirely. It’s still there, banked beneath the layers of caution and strategy I’ve spent years building. But now it’s mixed with something sharper, a protectiveness so fierce it almost surprises me.

Milo Pirlo-Lentini was supposed to be a pawn. A symbol. A way to seal the truce.

He’s becoming so much more.

And whoever was watching us in that park just made a very dangerous mistake.

I will keep Milo safe. I will make this work. And if anyone tries to take him from me—whether it’s the cartel, a rival family, or even his own blood—they will learn exactly why the name Maxim Kovalev still commands fear in this city.

The car glides through traffic, the city blurring past the windows.

Milo’s fingers stay laced with mine.

But my mind is elsewhere. And my instincts are rarely wrong…

14

MILO

The evening light has softened into that cozy golden hour glow that makes the apartment feel less like a luxurious prison and more like an actual home.

I’m curled up on the big leather couch in my favorite new cozy pajamas—soft pink fleece with little stars all over them—clutching Zoop against my chest while Maxim sets up the Monopoly board on the low coffee table.

Maxim is still in his tailored trousers and black button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, looking every bit the powerful Pakhan even when he’s trying to relax. The contrast makes my stomach do funny little flips.

He promised he’d try to stay in tonight, and so far he’s keeping that promise.

I watch him carefully count out the colorful money stacks, his large hands surprisingly gentle with the tiny silver pieces. It’s surreal. This dangerous man who spanked me senseless, made me cum on a dildo in the shower this morning, and then kissed me breathless in the park is now sitting across from me ready to play Monopoly like it’s the most normal thing in the world.