Page 45 of Secret Mafia Daddy

“If you want to think of it that way, sure. You can have whatever you want out of it.”

“I don’t want anyone else’s clothes,” I mumble, thinking that they hadn’t been my size, anyway. Angelo must go after much thinner women than me.

“Then we’ll throw them out,” he says easily, as if there’s not thousands of dollars of clothes and shoes in there. “We’ll get you new stuff.”

“I can buy my own clothes,” I mumble, sipping my coffee. It’s a little too sweet for me, but it’s not bad coffee.

“With what, your father’s money?” Angelo asks.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Nothing,” he says quickly. “Just asking.”

I fold my arms across my chest, feeling defensive for no reason I can think of. Angelo doesn’t know me or my stepfather. He doesn’t know that I help out around the house, or how my stepfather has helped take care of me and Chelsea when things were really hard.

“I have my own bank account,” I say.

Angelo looks at me as if to say that my stepfather puts money in it and I frown.

“How do you make your money? You said you take some from your father.”

He points his fork at me. “Only if I have to. I’ve only done it a few times, when things were slow.”

“When what things were slow?” I prod.

Angelo cocks his head. “You live with one of the biggest caputos in New York, kitten. You must know what we do.”

“I know what he does,” I say stubbornly. “I don’t know what you do. Is your father a capo?”

Angelo nods. “Yeah, but I don’t work for him. Not ever. I work for Dante and a few of the other capos in the area on an as-needed basis.”

“As-needed,” I muse. “So, you don’t do weekly jobs?”

My stepfather had a variety of weekly jobs he needed done, and he outsourced, of course, just like Dante. Usually the guys in charge didn’t get their hands dirty.

Angelo shakes his head. “Only when I really need the money. One year, I had to beat up this guy like ten times for not paying protection money to Dante, but that’s not usual.”

I raise an eyebrow. “So, you beat guys up for money?”

“I don’t always beat them up,” he says easily. “Sometimes I just shoot them.”

“You slit that guy’s throat,” I say in a low tone. “What was that about?”

Angelo shrugs. “A message. Guy went after Dante. We don’t tolerate that, so he had it a little more personal than a gunshot.”

I swallow hard, thinking this is exactly the type of lifestyle I want to keep Chelsea out of. I’m determined to save money, from my stepdad or from Angelo, and squirrel it away like Chelsea’s pirate booty. When I have enough, I’ll leave, and we’ll figure out custody from there.

I’m not going to cut Angelo out of Chelsea’s life, but I’ve got to get her away from all of this. Out of New York. Out of Chicago.

Somewhere out west, California, maybe, where the wiseguy lifestyle is just the stuff of screenplays.

I stand up and take the dishes to the sink but Angelo grabs me around the waist, pulling me down into his lap.

“I have a housekeeper, you know?” he murmurs in my ear, and it makes me shudder.

“Still, no reason to give her more work,” I insist. I always load the dishwasher at my stepdad’s place after breakfast.

Before Angelo can protest, my phone rings, and I stand up and grab it out of the back pocket of my shorts.

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