Page 66 of My Mafia Queen

“Miss?”

It’s a woman.

Her voice is muffled.

I jump out of bed, put my robe on, run my fingers through my hair, and pace to the door.

I stop and suck in a breath before I open it and look outside.

“Good morning,” the housekeeper says. “Breakfast is ready for you. Would you like to serve it on the patio?”

“Patio? Here?”

“Either here or downstairs.”

I walk backward and slide the door open.

“Here, please,” I say, the confidence in my voice taking me by surprise.

‘Is this something that has rubbed off from him?’I muse, watching the two servers wheeling in the food cart under the watchful gaze of the woman.

They finish setting the table, and she pours a cup of coffee for me before asking me if I need anything else.

Soon after, I sit alone on the balcony with food, flowers, and drinks in front of me. Coffee, freshly squeezed juice, and water.

The door closes in the distance before her footsteps trail out of the house while I stare at the food––pancakes, eggs, and fruit––with a smile on my face.

I feel like a princess.

A soft chuckle falls from my lips.

This man…

The thought of him shifts my focus to the dull pain between my thighs. I’m still grappling with that, although it’s mostly gone, and frankly, it has to do with him fucking me all night more than anything else.

Thinking about him makes me relive some of those moments. It comes as no surprise that a soft pulse comes to life between my thighs.

“Like I needed that…” I murmur to myself before putting my fork into a pancake.

I don’t know how hungry I am until I start eating.

The first piece of fluffy pancake hits my palate, and ravenous hunger sweeps through me.

Luckily, I’m by myself and can eat however I want.

The sun slips through the trees, creating mysterious riddles on the table while I shamelessly shove food into my mouth, trying to nourish my body as quickly as possible.

I only notice the flowers on the table when I start to experience the faintest sensation of satiation.

An armful of wildflowers. Zinnias, Daisies, Cosmos, and Sunflowers. They move in the wind, happy and careless, painted in haunting colors, living their moment to the fullest.

They remind me of myself with their delicate stems and petals and the unawareness threading through their veins, pointing to their short lives.

The thought should dampen my mood, yet it doesn’t succeed in the slightest.

Some things need to be like that. Beautiful, fleeting, perfect in their ephemeral life. Never getting carved out of permanence.

Chewing on a blueberry, I pick up the vase and smell the flowers, their aroma expressed perfectly in the morning hours.

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