Page 6 of Mafia Daddy

Then suddenly it hits me.

The fear in the man’s eyes, the way he couldn’t wait to get the hell out of the room. Maybe I should be taking this more seriously than I am?

Nah.

Russian Bratva or not, the Kovalev family won’t ever stop me doing as I please. Not now, not ever.

But just as I’m about to get myself ready to leave the room and go and find Charles amongst the club’s many playroom’s, I see my phone flash up with a message…

UNCLE PAOLO: It’s time, Milo. There is a car waiting for you outside. You’ve got ten minutes.

“Fuck. The sonofabitch had me followed here,” I grumble.

The reality is that Paolo maybe thought I would try and run to get out of this arrangement. I wasn’t planning on it, but I don’t blame him for thinking like that.

But did he really need to follow me to a damn kink club?

And why the hell is the meeting happening sooner than we arranged?

Whatever. There’s no point putting off the inevitable. Well, not until I’ve got my lips around one last espresso martini…

3

MAXIM

The digital clock on my nightstand reads 23:17 when I shrug on my black wool overcoat and check the vintage Rolex one final time.

We’re all set.

Midnight is the deadline, and I have never been late to my own executions—metaphorical or otherwise. Timekeeping is important to me, just one of the basic standards I live by that are utterly non-negotiable.

I step out of the apartment and into the private elevator. The doors slide shut with a soft chime, and for a moment the only sound is the low hum of descent. When they open again, Michael and Kobek are already waiting in the marble lobby, two shadows in tailored dark suits…

“Pakhan,” Kobek says, falling in on my left.

Michael gives a curt nod on my right.

“Gentlemen,” I say, feeling a sense of comfort from having my two closest allies by my side. Life as a boss can be lonely, but it goes a long way to have trusted men who you know you can count on no matter what. And in the shape of Michael and Kobek, I am very much in that kind of company.

We move as one unit through the revolving doors and into the cool night air.

The city pulses around us—neon bleeding into puddles, distant sirens, the low growl of traffic that never truly sleeps. A matte-black Escalade waits at the curb, engine already running.

Two of our soldiers stand guard, eyes scanning rooftops and alley mouths.

I slide into the rear bench seat. Michael and Kobek follow, the heavy doors sealing us inside.

The SUV pulls away smoothly.

“Status,” I say, voice low.

Kobek adjusts his earpiece. “Three snipers already in position on the old control tower and the hangar roof. Wind is negligible. No issues there. They have clear lines on every approach. Second vehicle, black Tahoe, four men, two AR-10s and a belt-fed SAW. They will shadow us at three hundred meters. If anything feels off, we light the place up and exfil west toward the river.”

I nod once. “Good.”

Michael is already tapping notes on his phone, the blue glow reflecting off his sharp features. I turn to him.

“Any last-minute concerns?”