Page 42 of Knocked Up by My Dad's Mafia Boss

I keep my head on his chest as his heartbeat begins to slow, his breathing starting to even. I’ve never felt more awake in my whole fucking life.

When I slip out of his arms as daylight comes through the windows, he whines a little in his sleep, reaching out for nothing.

My heart stutters but I make it back to my room before Papa comes in.

I’m still not tired.

My thoughts have been chasing me all night, and now they’re crashing down around me.

What if thingscouldbe different? What if Papa could eventually accept a relationship between me and Dante?

It’s not like I’ve ever asked him about it.

But Papa has mentioned several times that I’m near marrying age.

It’s like he wants me to settle down. I’ve always had a wild streak, ever since I was a teenager. He says I get it from him.

I pace around my room until headlights splash across my window.

Papa.

I take in a deep breath and hurry downstairs.

He blinks at me when I meet him at the door.

“What are you doing up so early,cara mia?” His words aren’t slurred, his eyes relatively clear even though he’s frowning.

“Hungover?” I ask him, not answering his question.

He groans. “Beyond all reason, yes. Blame Dante.”

I snort. “He said to blame you.”

“He’s a fucking liar,” he says, but he’s smiling. “I guess he got home all right?”

I nod. “He did.”

“Good. Felt like kind of an asshole for ditching him.”

“Heard you met a blonde.”

“She was a lovely lady,” he says with a sly grin, and that’s all Papa ever says about his conquests.

He’s not exactly a womanizer, but he gets around enough. Took him a few years to get back in the game after Mama passed.

I smile. “I’m glad you had fun.” I hesitate and bite my lip. “Are you busy?”

He snorts. “Please. I’m not getting anything done today. What’s up, sweetheart?” He looks at me, concern evident on his face.

“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Just… missed you while you were out of town. Thought we could catch up over breakfast.”

He smiles. “I don’t know if I’ll be the best company with this hangover, but of course you can eat with me.” He takes my hand and we walk into the dining room, where Papa’s huge breakfast buffet is spread out across the table.

Maria doesn’t spare any expense when it comes to breakfast, since it’s Papa’s favorite meal.

“You’re a miracle worker, Maria!” Papa calls into the kitchen. She doesn’t respond, used to his antics.

Papa sits at the head of the table and I sit next to him, making myself a plate but just pushing it around instead of eating.