Page 18 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
I can't put this conversation off.
"Angel, there's something I need to talk to you about."
She looks up, cheeks full of pancake. "Is it about the Christmas tree? You promised we'd decorate it today."
"We will. I promise." I take a deep breath. "It's about something else. Something important."
Her little face contorts into worry. "Is it bad?"
"No, sweetheart. Not bad, just… different." I reach across the table and take her small hand in mine. "You know how Lily's dad got married last year? And now she has a stepmom?"
“Yes. Lily doesn’t like her.”
Fuck. This may go badly.
“Yes, well… I’m getting married. Her name is Isabella.”
Her fork clatters against the plate. "But… but stepmothers are mean! They make you clean chimneys and eat poison apples!"
Despite everything, I almost smile. Those damn fairy tales.
"That's just in stories, Angel. Real stepmothers aren't like that." I squeeze her hand gently.
“Lily’s stepmom yells at her all the time.”
The truth is I have no idea what sort of stepmom Isabella will be. She hates me, which she could transfer to Angelica.
But the love for her mother tells me she understands the need for a young girl to have a mother figure.
“She needs our help."
"Our help?" Confusion replaces the fear in her eyes.
"Yes. You see, Isabella lost her mom, just like you did. And now she's all alone and doesn't have anyone to protect her." The lie comes easier than I expected, but the guilt is just as fierce. "She needs a family to keep her safe."
Angelica considers this, her seven-year-old mind processing. "Like how you protect me?"
"Exactly like that." I brush a strand of hair from her face.
Angelica makes a face as she pokes a pancake with her fork. “What if she’s mean?”
“I won’t allow that.” I take Angelica’s hand and squeeze it gently until she looks up at me. “I promise you.”
She shrugs, returns to eating and discussing Christmas. I’m glad she’s able to move on to a new topic.
Me? Isabella is still swirling in my mind. I fell asleep replaying the incident in the park, trying to figure out whether she was a random victim or the target of a hit.
And if she was meeting her handler, where was he?
Why didn’t he show up?
More unsettling was how the tussle we had as she tried to escape from me morphed into us rolling naked in my bed.
I woke up with a hard-on, something that hasn’t happened in a long, long time.
It’s not that I haven’t had sex since my wife died. I occasionally hook up with someone when Angelica is over at a friend’s house for a sleepover.
Most of my orgasms come from my own hand in the shower.
