Page 74 of My Daddy Is A Mob Boss

Dino and I eat the romantic dinner he made me.

I stare into his eyes as I fork down bites of pasta, unable to believe how gorgeous he is.

I reach under the table, then stroke myself as I gaze at his beauty, drinking every bit of it in.

My, oh my.

If the gods had created guys like Dino three hundred years ago when the Americans told the Brits to suck their dicks and started their own country, they wouldn’t have gotten anything done.

The Constitution never would’ve been written.

They would’ve been too busy staying at home and enjoying pasta with their precious ones.

Dino takes a sip of wine. "This hits the spot."

"You hit the spot."

Deep.

Low.

Primal.

I don't know where this sudden confession comes from.

It charges out of the deepest recess of my soul, stampeding through the space between us and charting a new path through the night.

Dino bates his eyelashes. "We’ve had enough cheese for the night, Daddy."

I sigh, leaning back in my seat, studying my pretty boy. "I wish I could paint. You’d be my muse. My inspiration. The boy I set on my mantle while I captured your every curve and sinew with my brush."

"You’re romantic."

"Not as much as I want to be." I push out a grumble, stabbing another bite of pasta. "I’d paint you like Tuke painted the rural fishermen in Cornwall. Or the way Turner captured the effervescence of an ancient Venice."

"I’ve never studied painting, so I don’t get the references."

I pull a Turner masterpiece of the Doge’s Palace on my phone. "This is what a master painter like Turner does. You see how the palace in Venice almost fades into its elements. It’s tough to tell whether it’s disappearing before our very eyes or perhaps appearing—or at some stage in between."

"Uh huh."

"Turner captures the moment before it’s gone. That’s why he was so drawn to Venice—it’s a city that’s perpetually being invented by those who experience it for the first time while also dying. Soon, Venice will be swept underwater and the sea will reclaim it."

Dino puts his hand on mine. "I think you’re smarter than you let on."

This causes something to flurry across my heart.

My eyes lock on Dino, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

This is the quintessential male fantasy.

Older man meets younger partner who fawns over his "brilliance."

Dino doesn’t really do that—half the time, he mocks me.

I couldn’t give a shit. I like it.

"Like I said, there’s so much I wish I knew."

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