Page 20 of Texting My Mafia Boss

More sex—more hunger. Learning her taste better than I know my own. Learning how sensitive she is and in what places, where and how she likes to be touched, driving her to orgasm after orgasm before finally erupting inside of her. Again, again, again…

Then we’ll want more. It’s not just her body. It’s her spirit, her enthusiasm. I won’t be content with some fuck buddy situation.She probably won’t either. I’ll let her close, and she’ll learn who I really am, what I really am. She’ll recoil, rightfully so. Which will mean Sylvie will lose out on a nanny she truly connects with.

My lust will ruin everything.

I wish there was a way to get rid of the problem in my shorts without indulging in any of that. The moment I explode once thinking about her, the floodgates will open. Once I experience it, even in my mind, I’ll be lost.

I walk into the en-suite, turn the shower down cold, and blast myself with the ice. I turn my mind to violence instead. To the rivers of red required to keep this city in check. That’s enough to settle me down. For now. Without the release, my hunger hovers at the surface. I just need to be strong. I’m a man, not a goddamn animal, even if she makes me feel like one.

When I return to bed, I think about the way Mara makes Sylvie laugh, how bright she seems lately, the extra love in my daughter’s heart. That’s enough. It has to be. Or I’ll ruin everything.

The next morning, I text Mara, keeping it about my daughter.

Ettore: I forgot to ask. Did Sylvie mention the drawing? Did she ask if I’d seen it?

The fact I forgot to ask this – the main reason we even spoke in the first place – says a lot about where my head was yesterday.

Mara: She didn’t mention it. I think it was more something that’s lingering on her mind, rather than something that’s dominating it. Whenever she talks about you, it’s always positive.

Ettore: She just wishes there was more of me to go around.

Mara: It’s not my place to say that.

Ettore: Don’t get shy on me now.

I type, but then delete the message. It’s good that she’s treating me like her employer and nothing else. I let things get out of hand last time.

I go down for breakfast, breath catching when I see Mara standing with her back to me, taking something from a cupboard. She’s wearing shorts, nothing outlandish, nothing inappropriate. That doesn’t stop them from riding up her ass and showing me the voluptuous beauty of her figure.

I quickly rush past her.

“Daddy!”

I lift my daughter into my arms, then carry her over to the table.

“Mara made pancakes,” she says.

“That’s nice of her.” I smile, putting Sylvie down. “Now, you be nice and eat it all up. You need your strength for all that dancing.”

She beams, tucking in. Mara brings some strawberry sauce to the table and sits opposite me, Sylvie between us.

“Are you hungry?” she asks, glancing at me.

She’s done something different with her hair. It takes me a moment to realize she’s straightened it. And she’s wearing more makeup, not a crazy amount, but liner around her eyes, a soft pink on her cheeks. She looks gorgeous.

“I’ve got a meeting in the city,” I tell her. “I can’t stay.” Sylvie looks down at her plate and frowns. I reach over and gently squeeze her arm. “But later, I want you to tell me all about your day. Deal?”

“Even the boring bits?”

“Especially the boring bits.”

If anyone was looking at us now, they might think we’re a family, age gap be damned. They’d assume Mara is Sylvie’s stepmother.

I stand. “I love you.”

“I love you, Daddy.”

“Have a good day. Bye, Mara. Thank you.”