Page 41 of Boss Daddy

His smirk widens. “If you were hoping I would lose interest, you’re all kinds of wrong.”

“Alright,” I say quietly as I set my fork down. I place my hands in my lap, my fingers twisting around the napkin. “You asked for it.”

His posture straightens slightly, his gaze steady as he waits for me to begin. I hesitate, my thoughts swirling as I try to figure out how much I’m willing to share.After a deep breath, I decide to take a leap. Finally, for the first time in years, I’m telling someone the truth.

“My mom died when I was young,” I start. “I don’t remember much about her. Just little things like her laugh, the way she smelled. After she was gone, it was just me and my dad.”

Samuel’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“My dad,” I continue, swallowing hard, “was a high-ranking member of the Italian mob. Controlling doesn’t even begin to describe him. Everything I did, every decision Itriedto make… it was all him. I felt more like a possession than a daughter.”

Samuel’s eyes darken, and a muscle begins ticking in his jaw, but he stays silent. I can tell he hates the idea of me being controlled.

“When I turned eighteen, I couldn’t do it anymore. I packed what I could carry, changed my name, and disappeared. I moved here from Chicago. I worked for years in the city, and I thought I was free, but...” I trail off, the memory of Misha’s leering face flickering in my mind. “Then I got mixed up with Misha.”

“Misha,” Samuel repeats, a disgusted tone to his voice.

“Yeah. I worked at his strip club as a bartender. It seemed like a good way to stay under the radar, but he had other ideas. He wanted more from me, wanted me to become a back-room girl, and when I said no, things got ugly.” I shrugged. “And that’swhere you come into the story.”

His hands flex on the counter, his knuckles whitening slightly. “Does your dad know him? Sounds like they’re in the same kind of business.”

I shake my head. “Not as far as I know. They’re from different circles. They should be enemies, actually. But that doesn’t mean my dad’s reach couldn’t find me if he wanted to.”

“So your dad just… let you go?”

I shrug. “I’m guessing he was glad to be done with me. The man always treated me like a burden anyway, a distraction from his ‘empire,’ as he called it.”

Samuel takes a moment to process it all, shaking his head and running his hand through his hair.“That’s a hell of a story, Erin.”

I force a small, tight smile, shrugging like it’s nothing. “I know it is. And now you know why I don’t hand it out freely.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, his dark eyes studying me like he’s piecing together a puzzle. “You’re tougher than you look. And that’s no small thing—I already think you’re pretty goddamn tough.”

I laugh softly, shaking my head. “You’d be surprised.”

He leans back and smirks.

“Your turn,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “Spill it.”

He chuckles, but his gaze stays serious. “Fair enough,” he says, pushing back his chair. “But if you’re going to hear my story, you’re going to need more coffee.”

He stands and grabs the French press, and I watch him for a moment, my chest tight with something I can’t quite name. It’s not fear, not anymore. Either way, I’m at the point where every little move he makes turns me on.

Samuel fills our mugs, then sits, leaning back in his chair, his coffee cup cradled loosely in his hands. His eyes glance down before looking at me.

“You know, I actually don’t think I’m done with you yet.”

I bristle slightly. Pushing back would be easy—hell, it’s my default—but something in his gaze makes me pause.“Meaning?”

He offers a small grin. “Learning about you. Something tells me you didn’t come to Denver to work in bars for the rest of your life—damn good bartender though you may be. I want to know what you reallywant.”

I shift in my seat. No one’s asked me that question before. “Well, if I had my way, I’d like to help kids someday. Maybe work as a social worker or a counselor.”

His brows lift slightly, the first sign of surprise I’ve seen from him this morning.“That’s... unexpected,” he admits. “Why?”

“Because I know what it’s like to feel stuck, to think no one’s coming to help. If I can make it better for even one kid, maybe everything I’ve gone through, everything I’m doing now, won’t feel so pointless. It’ll feel like it was all worth it.”

The words continue to tumble out, as if I have no control over them. “When I was growing up, I had so much. I didn’t even think about it. It was just natural, like the air I breathed. When I got old enough to consider it, I figured I was just lucky. Then I learned where it all came from, what my father did to be able toprovide our life of luxury.”

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