Page 52 of Mafia Daddy

Whether every moan, every soft “yes, Daddy,” every blanket fort was part of a longer game?

I’m going to find out.

And if he’s been playing me, I will force a confession out of the boy, however necessary.

The drive back is silent and tense. Milo tries to take my hand, but I keep it on my knee. When we reach the apartment, I help him out of the car but my grip on his arm is firmer than usual. We ride the private elevator up in heavy silence.

The second the doors open into the apartment, I turn to Milo.

“Living room. Now.”

He obeys, worry etched across his face. Kobek stays downstairs to coordinate with the men. I close the door behind us, lock it, and finally let the mask slip.

“What the fuck is going on, Milo?” My voice is low, dangerous. “Your uncle just tried to flip on me. Offered me terms that amount to surrender. Did you know about this?”

His eyes widen in genuine shock. “What? No! Maxim, I swear I didn’t!”

I step closer, towering over the boy. “You’re not telling me everything. It’s written all over your face. And you’re going to tell me the truth. All of it. Right now.”

The interrogation has begun.

And I won’t stop until I’m satisfied he’s telling me everything…

16

MILO

Maxim’s grip on my hand is firm, almost bruising, as he pulls me down the hallway toward a door I’ve never seen open before…

“Wait!” I holler, panic surging through me. “Maxim!”

My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat. The confrontation in the living room had been terrifying, his voice low and dangerous, eyes burning with suspicion. I’d sworn I didn’t know anything about a plot, but he hadn’t believed me.

Not fully.

Maybe not even at all.

Now Maxim stops in front of the locked door, punches in a code on a discreet keypad, and the heavy mechanism clicks open. He pushes the door wide and pulls me inside.

The room is dimly lit, windowless, and clearly designed for one purpose only…

Black padded walls, a padded bench, hooks and pulleys hanging from the ceiling, and a cabinet filled with implements I can only guess at.

My stomach drops. This is Maxim’s playroom.

Or his interrogation room.

Maybe his everything room.

“Maxim, please…” I start, but he’s already moving.

He tears my clothes off with ruthless efficiency: sweater yanked over my head, jeans shoved down my legs, briefs ripped away. I’m naked in seconds, shivering in the cool air but my insides are hot.

Before I can protest again, Maxim spins me around, pulls my wrists behind my back, and binds them with soft but unyielding rope. He hooks the rope to a pulley system on the ceiling and pulls until my arms are raised high, forcing me onto my toes.

I gasp, tugging instinctively.

The position arches my back, pushes my chest out, and makes my cock dance.