My Boyfriend’s Mafia Daddy Read Online Lena Little

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Insta-Love Tags Authors: Lena Little Advertisement

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I tuck the phone into my pocket and finish cleaning, then head to the back office. As I do the final count, double-check the alarm, and grab my purse, my fear rises. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and I'm overcome with the feeling that someone, somewhere, is watching me.

I think back on those threats Carlo made and decide to pay the extra to take an Uber instead of walking home just so I can have the driver pull up right out front. I'm waiting for the app to load on our sad WiFi network when I hear it.

The bells above the door. The door I locked. My blood runs cold.

Trying to hold back the panic, I think about my options. I could run out the back door, but there might be someone out there too, and instead of the brightly lit front of the store that opens into a busy street, the back door opens into the dingy, dark back alley. I could call the police, but then whoever is out there would hear me talking, and the cops wouldn't be able to get here fast enough to help.

The store isn't that big, and I can hear whoever entered shuffling around in the front. I hold my breath and listen, hoping beyond hope that I'll hear something that tells me it's just a customer and that I fudged the lock on accident. But no...whoever is out there is nearly silent, and my heart rate skyrockets. Dingy back alley it is, then.

I take one step out into the hallway, and I can't help but peek towards the front to see if someone really is there. To my horror, Carlo and two other men, both tall and broad and angry-looking, are waiting on me. Carlo locks eyes with me and smirks, and I whip around, running down the hallway.

"Grab her!" Carlo calls.

My adrenaline kicks in, and as I burst into the alley, I can hear them pursuing me, yelling, their heavy feet hitting the floor.

I have no choice, no time. I keep running, and as soon as I reach the end of the alley, I turn right. Maybe it's better to face the darkness, and maybe I'm better off trying to blend in with the crowd. Carlo won't risk hurting me or firing a gun if there are witnesses, will he?

But as I round the corner, I realize it's late on a Friday night in New York City. The crowds are thick, but the few people around are intoxicated, stumbling and shouting. This actually works to my advantage. I can definitely lose him in a cluster like this! I just have to find a cab and get the hell out of here.

I start running, pushing my way through the crowd, and a taxi finally appears. It slows but keeps going, and I swear, feeling frustrated.

"Daisyyyyy..."

Carlo's voice is sickeningly close, and it makes me want to throw up.

"Stop running, honey. I just wanna talk!"

No, he doesn't. He wants to kill me or, at the very least, scare me. If Carlo and his friends catch me, what will he do? Will he hurt me? Kill me? And his two goons, how far will they go?

"Daisyyy..."

There! A cab stopped at a stoplight. Without hesitation, I dive inside, sliding down in the seat so my head isn't visible.

"Drive! Drive!"

The cabbie looks startled and annoyed. "Where to?"

"Just drive!"

"Lady, I can't⁠—"

I fumble in my pockets, pulling out a $20 bill. "Here, just drive!"

The cabbie shrugs and pulls away from the curb. "You got it, kid, but $20 ain't gonna get you very far."

The light changes, and the driver pulls away into traffic. Carlo didn't see me...I'm sure of it. Oh, God, I actually made it! Relief floods through me, and I sit up, breathing deeply.

"I gotta say, lady, you're the weirdest fare I've had all night," the cabbie says. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Daisy," I tell him. "And sorry, it's been a strange day."

"I've had plenty of those," he tells me. "I'm Ed. Where am I taking you?"

"Give me a second."

I try to think fast, but my brain feels like it's running on molasses or something. I can't go home, Carlo knows where my apartment is. I need somewhere safe, SOMEONE safe preferably, but who the hell is Carlo Falcone scared of?

Then, like a semi-truck, an idea hits me. A crazy, crazy idea. But one that just might actually work.

"Il Fiore Raro."

I've always had a good memory for silly things that don't usually matter in the long run, like the birthdays of people I barely know or the favorite perfume of a coworker I only see once a week. This time, though, my strange little habit of remembering inconsequential things might save my life.

Carlo didn't speak about his family much, if at all, but on our third date, he let a little tidbit slip. He instructed me to choose any restaurant I wanted for the evening, and when I jokingly asked if there were any that were off limits, he told me, with no humor, "Il Fiore Raro."

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