Page 51 of Mafia Daddy

The restaurant looks normal enough from the outside: crisp white tablecloths visible through the windows, waiters moving with practiced elegance, the faint clink of silverware.

But my instincts are screaming.

“Keep the engine running,” I tell the driver quietly.

Kobek shifts beside me, checking his phone. “One of Paolo’s men just messaged. Paolo is inside. He doesn’t appreciate waiting.”

I nod once, my jaw tight.

Milo is watching me closely, his hand resting on my thigh. He looks worried, his brows drawn together, lips pressed into a thin line.

For one dark, poisonous second, doubt slithers through my mind. Could this be a setup? Could he have known? Could the sweet, playful boy who built blanket forts and asked for bedtime stories be playing me for his uncle all along?

I push the thought aside almost immediately. No. Not him. Not after last night. Not after the way he melted in my arms.

But try as I might, the seed is planted, and it festers.

“You stay in the SUV until I say otherwise,” I tell him, voice firm. “Understood?”

Disappointment flashes across his face, but he nods. “Okay.”

I lean in and kiss his forehead, lingering for half a second longer than necessary. Maybe I just want to kiss or, perhaps I’m trying to sense if the boy is indeed in on a plot against me.

“We move,” I say.

Kobek and I step out into the brisk air. Two of my men fall in behind us as we cross the sidewalk and enter the restaurant.

The place is quiet, mostly brunch crowds and people nursing expensive coffees. Soft jazz plays in the background. Paolo and one of his generals are seated at a corner table near the back. The mood is wrong the second we approach.

Paolo’s expression is cold, standoffish. No handshake. No warmth.

We sit.

Paolo doesn’t waste time. “The cartel made me a strong offer,” he says flatly. “I gain control of the city. All of it. But I deal only with them. They’re willing to give me better terms than you ever could. And backup that would protect my family from any family on this coast, or the west.”

A surge of pure anger floods my veins.

So this is it.

Lentini has been using the truce—using me—as leverage the entire time. Playing both sides like the calculating sonofabitch he is.

“I cannot approve of this,” I reply, my voice ice-cold. “You know that.”

Paolo leans back, his eyes like chipped obsidian. “Our truce depends on it. If you cannot give your blessing, then the Lentini family will become targets for the cartel-backed operations. And that includes your little Milo. Blood or not, business is business.”

The threat lands like a slap. For a second, it feels like a single movement could lead to gunfire. My hand twitches toward the gun holstered beneath my jacket. Kobek is coiled like a spring beside me. Paolo’s general watches us carefully, hand near his own weapon.

One wrong word and this brunch turns into a bloodbath.

I stand slowly, buttoning my jacket. “We’re leaving.”

Paolo’s voice follows us. “Accept the new situation, Kovalev. Or there will be consequences for your family, old and new members alike.”

We walk out without another word. The second we’re back in the SUV, I slam the door and snap at the driver, “Apartment. Now.”

Fury burns through me like acid. Milo is watching me with wide, concerned eyes from the back seat. I can feel his questions, his worry. But right now, all I can think about is whether he knew…

Whether sweet, innocent Milo has been feeding information to him uncle this whole time?