He padded across the floor barefoot, sleeves pushed up, hair still a little messy from bed. There was something dangerously intimate about that. Like I was seeing a version of him the rest of the world didn’t get.
He opened the fridge, glanced at me over his shoulder, and said, “Sit.”
I blinked. “You can cook?”
He snorted. “Did you think I’d live off takeout and protein bars?”
“…Yes?”
He gave me a flat look that somehow made my face heat. “Sit,” he repeated, gentler. “Let me handle something for you.”
It was the “for you” that got me. I found a stool at the island, pulling my knees up under the robe, and watched him move with quiet confidence—cracking eggs, slicing something, heatinga pan. This wasn’t a sexy-chef performance. This was…domestic. Comfortable. Ridiculously, unfairly attractive.
“You do this a lot?” I asked.
“When everyone else forgets to eat.” He paused, expression softening. “My father…has always been the type to go eighteen hours without food if someone doesn’t force the issue.”
There was a weight to his voice I’d never heard before. A heaviness. I tilted my head. “You talk like you’re the one in charge.”
He didn’t answer right away. He plated food—simple but beautiful—and set it in front of me like I was something fragile he’d decided to keep intact.
“Here. Eat.”
I took a bite and immediately groaned because it was disgustingly good. His mouth twitched, trying not to smile.
“So,” I said, pointing my fork at him, “you’re not just some mob guy. You’re…what? The boss’s favorite? His golden boy?”
Jonathan froze for half a second. It wasn’t big, but I caught it.
“Interesting guess,” he murmured.
“Not a guess.” I grinned. “You’re too responsible. Too…commanding. And Alex and Devin fall in line with you like you’re already in charge.”
He leaned back against the counter, arms crossing loosely. “Frankie.”
“Hmm?”
“You can stop guessing.” His gaze held mine, dark and steady. “Because you’re right.”
I swallowed. Not because I was scared—but because something about his honesty hit me right under the ribs.
“You’re going to be the don,” I said quietly.
“When my father steps down, yes.” His jaw flexed. “It’s not quite the glamorous role people assume. Mostly it’s pressure. Endless pressure.” His voice softened by a hair. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”
“Why? I like when you talk to me like this.”
That earned a low exhale. “Because you’re easy to be honest with.” He raked a hand through his hair, suddenly looking tired. But not in a weak way. More like he’d been holding up an entire building his whole life and finally set it down for a second, still stronger than anyone had a right to be. “And that’s dangerous for a man in my position.”
My heart squeezed, and I put my fork down gently. “Jonathan…I’m glad you told me.”
His eyes warmed. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Then, because my brain had zero filter and my libido was apparently suicidal, I added, “You know, I used to have a crush on one of my professors in college.”
Jonathan blinked. “I’m sorry?”
I shrugged, heat creeping up my neck. “He was older. Serious. Bossy in that way where you’re not sure if he’s mad at you or trying not to smile.” I twirled a piece of hair around my finger,realizing exactly what I was doing but unable to stop. “You remind me of him.”
