Page 11 of Watch Me, Daddy

His eyes slid from me to the door and back again as he raised a single eyebrow. I fidgeted in front of him, wringing my hands while I waited for him to say something. The right corner of his mouth lifted in a telltale smirk. He was amused by my apparent shame, and I couldn’t help but scowl in return.

“Going somewhere?”

“To the kitchen, asshole. You’re standing in my way,” I retorted, lifting my chin in annoyance.

He chuckled softly and stepped aside.

I expected his ire, and he showed nothing other than amusement. I wasn’t sure why that was frustrating me, but it was.

“After you, princess,” he stated, and I missed a step, flying forward towards the ground in my klutziness.

As the floor rushed at my face, I braced myself for the impending impact. But before I could hit the floor, strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me close to a solid, warm chest. Aidan had caught me, his quick reflexes saving me from a clumsy tumble. The proximity of his body sent a rush of heated sensations through me, as well as immediate relief. I looked up into his eyes, the intensity of his gaze holding me captive for a moment before he gently steadied me on my feet. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but his touch was reassuring all the same.

Princess.

I didn’t know why that single word had affected me so deeply. Maybe it was the way his voice reverberated through my body, or maybe I just hadn’t made myself come hard enough last night. Both thoughts made my awkward mortification that much worse, and I cleared my throat.

Leisurely, he let me go, but I could have sworn I’d seen a hint of reluctance in his calm, steady gaze. I tore my eyes away as quickly as I could before strutting down the hallway to the kitchen.

The enticing aroma of an extravagant breakfast filled the air, and I couldn’t help but feel a mixture of surprise and delight. Aidan had prepared a feast fit for royalty, and the sight before me was nothing short of impressive. The kitchen island was adorned with an array of mouthwatering dishes, from fluffy pancakes drizzled with maple syrup to perfectly scrambled eggs garnished with fresh herbs. The sight of the spread made my stomach rumble with hunger, and I took a seat at the table.

I didn’t turn my head, but I heard the sound of his footsteps as he made his way to the kitchen. Once he moved into my field of view, I watched as he prepared two plates of food. When he was done, he approached me and slid one of the plates in front of me with a confident yet gentle movement. Warmly, he smiled and took a seat opposite of me. He waited for me to pick up my fork and knife before he did his, but he didn’t dig in yet.

He wanted to see what I thought.

As I took a hesitant bite of the breakfast Aidan had prepared, my taste buds were instantly met with an explosion of flavors that danced. The pancakes were light and fluffy, the perfect balance of sweet and savory, and the eggs were rich, creamy, and perfectly seasoned. As I took one bite after another, I couldn’t help but savor every morsel. As I glanced up at him, I saw a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.

“You like it,” he smirked.

“It’s decent,” I lied, and the sound of his laughter filled the room. His good mood contagious, I giggled along with him.

“Okay. It’s really good,” I relented, trying my best to appear reluctant. I kept my eyes down, not wanting to see the sparkling look of victory glimmering in his gaze that I knew was there.

It wouldn’t hurt to butter him up a bit so that he dropped his guard around me. If I could just get him to trust me, it would be much easier to escape in the end.

“Eat your fill. Don’t be afraid to have seconds,” he offered.

Without meaning to, I flinched, remembering the heated exchange between me and Anton. One of his rules was that I was to eat a certain number of calories a day so that I would maintain my figure for him.

Aidan wasn’t anything like that.

“Thank you,” I blushed.

I dug my fork into the still steaming pile of eggs and pressed it in between my lips. When I hazarded a glance upward, I saw him watching me.

“My name is Aidan Murphy, Irina,” he said softly.

I started. I knew that name. It was one that had come up several times in discussions between my father and I as we designed our approach in establishing ourselves in Boston.

From our research, the Murphys were one of the most powerful Irish mafia families in the city. Their only competitor on the South side was the Kavanaghs. The Italians ran another part of the city, and there were other smaller groups, namely Giovanni Caruso and several others that volleyed for power. There were the Greeks and a few disorganized gangs, but none of them held a candle to the power the Murphys held over Boston.

They were practically gods.

I sat back in my chair and looked at him with new eyes. For a moment, I was silent, just taking in the information and digesting it.

“I can see the wheels turning in your head, so before you think too much on it, let me tell you why I took you,” he continued softly. His tone was gentle, neither commanding nor cruel, and I decided to listen.

“I’d like that,” I murmured.

---