Page 24 of My Mafia Queen

“Did you tell him anything about me?” I ask, watching her set her purse on the kitchen counter.

She spins around and looks at me.

“I don’t want any problems for you or me, so no,” she says.

Her smile is faint and tired as she tears her eyes away from me and switches on the coffee machine.

Before long, a smell of coffee drifts through the air.

“Speaking of problems,” I say, moving to the counter and picking up the box of crayons. “Are these yours?” I ask, watching her thoughtfully.

Her eyes move to the box of crayons before coming back to me.

She surely knows what I’m talking about.

“Yes.”

She collects the box and drops it into her purse.

“Is that what I think it is?”

Her back is turned to me as he pours herself a cup of coffee.

“Do you want some?” she says instead of giving me an answer.

“No. I’m good.”

She spins around to face me and takes a swig, musing, her expression concealed behind her cup.

“I didn’t want to tell anyone,” she says, placing her drink down. “I found out it was better than way if I wanted to have a man in my life.”

She leans against the counter, her arms folded over her chest.

“Who is your kid living with?”

“My mother.”

“Here in LA?”

She nods.

“Yes.”

Her cheeks are flushed as she sighs, weighing her words.

“How old is your kid?”

“She’s three years old.”

I freeze.

“I don’t understand. Why? Why my father? There must be better men out there.”

Her face is pale.

“I don’t want to offend you––” I say, and she makes a clipped gesture.

“No offense taken. I know how it looks.”

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