Page 66 of Ruthless Mafia Daddy

I opened my mouth to reason with him but decided against it. What was I supposed to say? ‘Sorry I came into your life to ruin it, but you can’t blame me, you’re a criminal. I just didn’t expect things to turn out the way they did, and if you let me go, I promise not to do it again?’

So instead, like any good secretary, I said “Vogue for the heading and Montserrat for the body?”

“Yes, Arielle, do you need me to paint it across my head for you to see?” he asked, briefly taking his eyes off his laptop to give me a look.

“No, sir,” I replied robotically, picking up the file and making my way out of his office.

He knows the effect it has on me whenever he calls me Arielle, and he has refused to let go of it. He made sure to use the name at least five times a day, and he never said it like a name. He said it with the same tone an executioner would use to pass a death sentence, like a stain they wanted to eternally embed in your skin. I, on the other hand, decided to keep things professional and call him sir in place of Mikhail.

I returned to my desk and proceeded to retype the document. It wasn’t like I had a choice. Jason finally got his toy and wasenrolled in a nice school, and I could finally afford a babysitter whenever Annalise was busy. That was all that mattered.

However, something I found increasingly suspicious was how he never asked any questions about Father. I had expected him to try to force out every bit of information from me, but he has not once mentioned anything. He either knew I was on the run, or he had something far worse planned. Either way, a part of me was longing to get the smallest details from him, a little insight into what had been happening in New York since I left, but he never mentioned anything about it, not even in passing.

Finally satisfied with my job and giving my knuckles a gentle massage, I made my way back into his office with the new files. “Here it is, sir.”

He didn’t even glance at them. He merely dismissed me with a wave of his hand and returned to whatever he was doing on his laptop.

“Arielle,” he called in a taunting voice. “For lunch, I’ll be having sfogliatelle, and my guest will have the sliced chianina beef with chili sauce from de Lorenzo.”

My fingers paused on the doorknob, my expression morphing into the picture of disbelief, and I whirled around to find him clicking away at his laptop. “De Lorenzo is in Florence.”

He glanced lazily at the wall clock. “Then, I suggest you get a head start. My guest was very particular about her request.

Her? Of course, it’s a fucking woman. Who else would want to eat a fucking beef in an office on a Friday afternoon?

“What about the proposal you asked me to prepare?”

“You can do that when you return. The meeting is not until six.”

“Six p.m.?”

“Have you suddenly developed some form of hearing defect?” He finally pulled his attention from his laptop to look at me.

“That’s a bit too late for me. A meeting starting at six will be ending by eight.”

“Why, Arielle, do you have a hot date waiting for you?” he sneered, and I flinched from his tone.

“Get me my lunch, prepare the proposal afterward, and be present at the meeting. I don’t care what you do with yourself afterward.”

I left his office without any objections and hurried to the restroom, feeling tears collecting in the corner of my eyes. The biggest downside of motherhood is how increasingly emotional I’ve become over the years, and how tears pooled in my eyes at the slightest inconvenience. I absolutely hated how weak it made me feel.

*****

I glanced at the watch for the hundredth time, it was past nine and Mikhail was still engaged in whatever business deal he was trying to close. Per usual, I was sitting at the far end of the private lounge and couldn’t hear much of their discussion.

My knees bounced uncontrollably as I thought of Jason. I already sent Anna a text to inform her of the situation, but I hated not being present to tuck my baby into bed. It was a nightly ritual we performed every day where he told me abouthis day and I told him about mine, and right now, Mikhail was currently robbing me of that to chat over a glass of Hennessy.

“Sure, you don’t want a cocktail or something?” Antonio, Mikhail’s project manager, asked a third time, and I declined a third time.

I’ve not sipped alcohol since I arrived in Italy, and I intend to keep it that way. I had more than just myself to look after.

“How long will it be till they’re done?” I asked, watching as Mikhail threw his head back in laughter at whatever the man said. He looked so carefree and in his element.

“That? The deal was concluded a long time ago. Everything else is just formalities to create some form of cordiality between both parties,” Antonio replied, lighting himself a cigarette. I’ve always wondered if he was a part of the mafia or a regular employee like the rest of us.

Right before my eyes, three women wearing next to nothing were brought inside the room, and Mikhail made his pick, a tall, skinny blonde with a nice ass. The rest were dismissed.

I watched as she settled onto his lap, giggling as he whispered something into her ears, his hands traveling from her thighs to casually hover above her crotch.

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