Page 75 of Mafia Daddy

Between moves we kiss. We touch. We whisper promises of forever.

By the time I’m draped over his lap, panties long discarded, ass glowing and throbbing beautifully, the chessboard is forgotten. Maxim’s fingers trace over the marks he’s left, soothing and possessive at the same time.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Milo,” Maxim murmurs, voice thick with love and lust.

“No, you won’t die,” I whisper, arching into his touch. “Because I plan on living forever right here. With you.”

He flips me gently, pulling me up so I’m straddling him again, and kisses me until the whole world disappears. Just us. Just this.

The mafia, the blood, the betrayals… they’re behind us now. What stretches ahead is something brighter. Something ours.

Forever.

Six months later…

The late afternoon sun warms my shoulders as I walk down the quiet tree-lined street toward the little Italian coffee shop on the corner. My cream cashmere coat flaps gently in the breeze, and my black ankle boots click confidently against the sidewalk.

Six months. It feels like a lifetime and no time at all.

I’m not the same boy who was handed over in a midnight airfield deal. Far from it, in fact.

I’m not even the same boy who pulled the trigger on that rooftop.

I’m Milo Kovalev now… loved, protected, and utterly claimed by the most dangerous man in the city.

And I’ve never been happier.

I spot him through the café window before I even reach the door. Maxim sits at our usual table near the front, looking unfairly gorgeous in a charcoal three-piece suit, his vintage Rolex catching the light. An espresso sits in front of him, untouched.

Maxim’s eyes lift the moment I step inside, like he can sense me before he sees me. That slow, possessive smile spreads across his face, and my stomach does its familiar happy flip.

I slide into the seat across from him, leaning forward to steal a quick kiss.

“Hi, Daddy,” I murmur against his lips.

“malysh.” His voice is low, warm, just for me. He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “You look beautiful.”

We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, just drinking each other in. Then Maxim reaches across the table and takes my hand, thumb stroking over my knuckles.

“Are you happy, Milo?”

I don’t even have to think about it. “Yes,” I say softly, squeezing his fingers. “I’m happier than I ever thought I could be. I have you. I have us. The nightmares are fewer. The guilt… it’s still there sometimes, but it doesn’t own me anymore. You helped me make peace with what I had to do.”

His eyes soften with pride and love. “Good. That’s all I ever want for you.”

We finish our drinks slowly, talking about nothing and everything—my new art history classes I started last month, the latest renovation at the upstate compound, how Kobek is finally back on his feet and grumbling about desk duty. Normal things. Our things.

Eventually Maxim checks his watch and nods once. “It’s time.”

We stand together. He offers me his arm like the perfect gentleman, and I take it, chin high. We walk through the cozy café toward the private table at the very rear, tucked behind a decorative screen…

A lone man waits there—mid-forties, expensive watch, cold eyes. A cartel general no less. He doesn’t stand when we approach. Rude, but expected.

Maxim pulls out my chair first, ever the gentleman, then takes his own beside me. His hand rests possessively on my thigh under the table.

The general speaks first, voice clipped with a heavy accent. “You asked for this meeting, Kovalev. And you keep me waiting?”

Maxim leans back slightly, the picture of calm power. “A decision has been reached.”