Page 25 of Texting My Mafia Boss

He leaves me there, breathing hard, nerves alight and body so, so ready for him to turn around and carry me to bed.

When his footsteps fade away, I’m not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

CHAPTER 10

ETTORE

Iget two or three hours of sleep, waking with exhaustion clinging to me. All night, my mind was bouncing around. My poor Sylvie. Livia and I thought her sleepwalking phase was over. And calling out for her mother, dammit. Calling out for connection, for the parental figures in her life to make more of an effort.

I wouldn’t have thought like this before Mara. That says a lot about me and her.

If I wasn’t thinking about my daughter, my thoughts turned to Mara. She clearly had no clue she was wearing only her underwear until I started feasting on her with my eyes.

She looked unbelievable, breasts big and beautiful, weighty in her bra. Her body was all woman, hips begging for my lips, her underwear clinging to her sex and making me ache to touch her. When I gripped her hips, my manhood flooded with heat and tension.

Her breathing made me savage. Her breasts, from that angle, were fucking otherworldly. Juicy and thick. I was throbbing justthinking about what her nipples would be like, pale, big, dark, how hard they’d get if I sucked them and massaged them. If sucking her perfect tits would make her even wetter, if I’d be able to see the wetness soaking through the fabric of her underwear.

But still—I held strong. Way to goddamn go, man. I didn’t jerk off thinking about my nanny. I must be a monk or something. It’s pathetic to give myself credit for this, but I can’t deny how difficult it was.

I wake early and hit the gym. Every exercise is linked to her in some way. I can’t lie on the weight bench without imagining her straddling me, wet noises as she shifts her gorgeous body back and forth. I’m torturing myself by not cleaning my pipes. But also, doing that while thinking about someone else or looking at a photo or something would feel… wrong.

Butthisis wrong too.

I shower, change, then go to the kitchen. It’s the weekend, so I’m the first one here. I check the time, then shoot a text to Mara.

Ettore: Breakfast is at nine.

Mara: Am I your personal chef now too?

I chuckle at her sassiness. It’s such an amazing change from the way everybody else tiptoes around me, even Livia. Hell, even my own daughter, in some ways.

Ettore: I’m your chef for the morning. I hope you like burned pancakes.

Mara: Are you kidding?

I don’t reply. Instead, I get to work. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve cooked anything, I can’t lie. My life is restaurants orprivate chefs. I end up following a recipe from my phone so I don’t screw it up.

A big smile spreads across my face when I hear Sylvie cry out from behind me. “Daddy!”

I turn, kneeling, catching her when she runs into my arms. She doesn’t seem tired or traumatized. She seems happy. But Mara’s comment about her own childhood stuck with me. The lie that she’s over it now. People are good at masking, even fooling themselves. I’m sure Sylvie doesn’t want me to see her sad, even if she is.

“How hungry are you?” I ask, grinning.

“Thishungry.” She spreads her hands.

“I better make some more then. Can you set the table for me, please?”

“Absolutely.”

I stand, glancing at Mara. She’s got her hair tied up in a messy bun, wearing a white tank top with a pink bra, the strap showing. Sweatpants. It’s not a provocative outfit. Yet, I can’t stop looking. She offers me a small smile. I return it, then quickly turn back to the stove.

It’s like I can sense her disappointment. I imagine her thinking,Is he seriously going to try and fuck me then blank me?What she doesn’t understand is that coldness is the only way I can stop this. She’s too sweet, too caring, too sexy, too… everything.

I need to get my head on straight.

Plating the pancakes, I carry them to the table. Sylvie sits with her knife and fork in her hand, but she doesn’t eat. She looks down at the plate for a long time.

“Is something wrong?” I ask. “Don’t they look good?”