Page 58 of Mafia Daddy

“Mmmmm,” I say, my eyes slowly opening.

I wake up slowly to the soft grey light of dawn filtering through the huge windows. The apartment is quiet, the kind of peaceful hush that only comes right before the city fully wakes up.

For a moment I just lie there, warm and cocooned in Maxim’s big bed, the sheets still carrying his scent. My body feels pleasantly used… a reminder of last night’s incredibly intense sex and the tender way my Daddy carried me to bed afterward.

But something else stirs in my chest. A quiet ache. A memory.

I close my eyes and let it come…

MANY YEARS AGO…

I’m eight years old, standing barefoot on the cool stone terrace of a rented villa on the Amalfi Coast. The sky is just beginning to blush pink at the edges. Papa is beside me, his big hand wrapped around mine. He’s wearing an old linen shirt and swim trunks, hair still messy from sleep, but his eyes are bright and full of life.

“Early bird gets the best water, piccolina,” Papa says with that big, warm laugh of his. “Come on. Race you to the beach!”

We run down the winding stone path together, laughing the whole way.

The sand is still cool under our feet when we reach the shore. The Mediterranean stretches out before us, calm and glittering in the dawn light.

Papa scoops me up and runs into the water with me shrieking happily in his arms. We splash in up to our waists, then he lets me go and we swim together.

The water is perfect: cool but not cold.

We bob side by side, floating on our backs, watching the sky turn from pink to gold. Papa reaches over and takes my hand again, squeezing it gently.

“You know, Milo,” he says softly, “I may not live forever. None of us do. But my spirit and everything I know… it will always be inside you. You carry me with you, no matter what. Understand?”

I nod solemnly, even though I don’t fully grasp the weight of his words yet.

“I understand, Papa.”

He smiles, that bright, mischievous smile that always made everything feel like an adventure. “Good. Now… race you back to shore! Loser has to carry the towels!”

We kick off, splashing and laughing.

I win by a hair because he lets me, I’m sure of it.

Then we walk back up the beach hand in hand, dripping wet, sand sticking to our feet, the rising sun warming our skin. Papa swings our joined hands as we go, humming an old Italian song under his breath.

A memory I will never forget. A moment that felt so incredible, even at the time.

I miss him.

I would do anything to have Papa back…

PRESENT DAY…

Back in the present, I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye before it can fall. The ache in my chest is bittersweet. I miss him so much it hurts sometimes. But that memory also reminds me of who I am: a Lentini, yes, but also someone who knows how to survive, how to fight for the people he cares about.

I slip out of bed, pull on one of Maxim’s soft robes, and pad quietly into the living area. The apartment is still dim, but I can see him immediately.

Maxim is sitting at the chess table near the window, staring at the board with that intense, focused expression he gets when he’s thinking several moves ahead. He hasn’t slept. I can tell from the faint shadows under his eyes and the half-empty glass of vodka beside him.

I walk over and sit in the chair opposite him without saying anything at first. He looks up, and the hardness in his gaze softens just a fraction when he sees me.

“Hey,” I say softly. “Have you really been up all night?”

He nods his head. “I said I would be. Too much on my mind.”