Page 20 of Mafia Daddy

Yuri laughs, cheeks going a little pink. “I mean… I kind of have to. It’s my job.”

I can see that Yuri is completely taken by my enthusiasm. His eyes keep flicking to my legs, my smile, the way I lean in when he talks.

Perfect.

While Yuri is busy plugging in the karaoke system and scrolling through song options on the connected tablet, I casually reach for one of the snack boxes and “accidentally” brush against his jacket where it’s draped over the couch.

His phone is right there in the pocket.

I slide it out smoothly, tuck it under my thigh, and keep chatting like nothing happened. “What’s your go-to song? I bet you crush ‘Defying Gravity.’”

Yuri grins wider, totally oblivious. “Only on my best days. Come on, pick something. I’ll duet with you.”

I laugh and nod along, heart racing with triumph.

Inside, I’m already hitting the high notes.

One phone. One tiny victory.

Tonight, while Maxim’s still out, I’ll message Charles. Or find a way to reach someone on the outside. This is the first real step toward getting the hell out of Maxim Kovalev’s control.

I smile sweetly at Yuri as he hands me a mic, already planning my next three moves.

Maxim thinks he’s broken me in twenty-four hours.

That damn sonofabitch has no idea who he’s dealing with…

7

MAXIM

“If only they knew,” I say under my breath, allowing myself a smile as a self-obsessed couple practically barge their way past me on the sidewalk. “If only they knew…”

The midday sun cuts through the gaps between skyscrapers, throwing sharp shadows across the bustling downtown sidewalk.

Despite my run-in with two obnoxious assholes, I walk alone, hands in the pockets of my black wool overcoat, collar turned up against the chill wind whipping off the river.

No security detail.

No armored SUV crawling behind me.

I’m simply the Pakhan of the Kovalev family moving through the city like any other man. And those two jokers on the sidewalk were none the wiser. Had they known though, I could bet my last dollar that they would have got out of my way, and fast.

But they didn’t. And I’ll keep walking this way when I can.

Some would call it reckless. I call it necessary.

Every few weeks I make a point of doing this—slipping out on foot, letting the crowd swallow me for a few blocks. The risk of a gunman stepping out of an alley or a sniper on a rooftop is real.

It is always real.

But that edge keeps me sharp.

And more importantly, it gives me something I rarely feel anymore: a fleeting sense of normalcy. For ten or fifteen minutes I am not the man whose name makes lesser bosses check their exits. I am simply another face in the current of the city I have bled to control.

As I walk, my shoes strike the pavement in a steady rhythm.

Around me, office workers hurry past with paper cups of coffee, delivery cyclists weave between pedestrians, and street vendors shout about hot dogs and knockoff watches. The noise is a living thing: honking horns, distant sirens, the low thrum of a thousand conversations. I breathe it in.