Page 16 of Mafia Daddy's Girl

I scoop her up, carrying her into the bedroom, not even bothering to ask if she wants to stay the night or not. My home is hers, even if she doesn't know it yet. She's mine now. And I'm never going to let her go.

6

EMMY

Idon't know which exact moment changed our relationship from boss hooking up with a secretary to something that feels a lot more like a real relationship, but I'm not about to complain.

Alessandro is possessive and powerful, but I find myself obsessing over him, too. He makes me feel things I never thought possible, both in mind and body. It takes me off guard when I realize I want things to be official between us. The rest of the world might be afraid of him, but I'm not. I want everyone to know that he's mine as much as I'm his, but I know it's just not the right time, no matter how much I want it to be.

We keep things under wraps in public, only because the heat from the car bombing and Enzo's assassination is still on. Sandro can't seem to help himself, though, and he makes it known in subtle ways that I am under his protection. A possessive hand on the back of my neck, acknowledging me first in a room full of men that far outrank me—Alessandro isn't as subtle as he thinks he is, but I don't mind.

His public display of breaking that asshole associate's fingers did have one upside, at least. Now everyone knows that Alessandro is more than just talk. He has no problem showing why he's the Boss by force if necessary.

It's been three days since that night, when he defended me, took my virginity, and then took me out for one of the most beautiful nights of my life. It's hard to concentrate, but I've managed to throw myself back into work while Sandro is out of the office.

It's easier to work when he isn't here normally. But when I spot the first discrepancy, I start to wish he were here, just so I had another set of eyes to confirm what I'm seeing.

Something isn’t right.

The numbers in front of me blur as I flip back and forth between the ledgers, cross-referencing payments, withdrawals, and missing funds that shouldn’t be missing. It’s subtle—so subtle that I almost didn’t catch it. But now that I have, it’s like staring at a puzzle where all the pieces suddenly click into place.

Marco.

The transactions are carefully spaced out and funneled through dummy accounts that look legitimate at first glance. But they aren’t. He’s been skimming, moving money in increments too small to raise suspicion. That alone would be enough to damn him. But the real problem—the real betrayal—is where the money is going.

A rival family.

My fingers tighten around the edge of the paper. Sandro was right. Someone in this building sold out Enzo, and now they’re coming for him next. And it’s his own Underboss.

Oh, fuck. I have to call him right now, but the sudden fear that the office might be bugged rises in me. I stand too quickly, my chair scraping against the floor, the sound too loud in the silent office. Trying to remain calm, I gather the pages, stacking them with shaking hands.

I shove the ledgers back into the drawer and clutch the loose pages to my chest. My stomach is in knots as I move toward the elevator. The hallway is quiet—too quiet—and something makes me hesitate.

That prickling sensation. The kind that creeps up your spine when you’re being watched.

I glance over my shoulder, but of course, there's nothing there. No one else works on this floor except for Sandro. I swallow, fighting back the unease starting to churn in my gut. I take one step, and then another, knowing that I'll feel safe when I'm in the elevator, but too nervous to turn around and leave myself vulnerable.

I'm just a few feet away when I hear it—the creak of a floorboard.

Before I can react, an arm snakes around my waist, yanking me back. A rough hand clamps over my mouth, muffling my scream. My papers scatter, slipping from my grasp like dry leaves, floating uselessly to the ground.

“Going somewhere, Emmy?”

My body goes rigid. Marco’s voice is low, almost amused, as he pulls me tight against his chest. I thrash, kicking back, twisting in his grip, but he’s too strong. His arm is a steel band around my ribs, making it nearly impossible to breathe.

“I knew you'd figure it out eventually. Enzo didn't keep you around as a pretty side piece, that's for sure, so I knew you had to be smarter than you let on. Too bad you didn't figure it out before I put a bullet in the old man's head."

His voice is dripping with cruelty, and I fight back even harder, my heart breaking. He killed Enzo, the fucking traitor. I try to scream, but his hand presses harder against my lips, his fingers digging into my jaw.

He chuckles. “Shh, sweetheart. Don’t want to ruin that pretty face for Alessandro, do we? I want to make sure he recognizes you when I dump your body on his doorstep."

Bile rises in my throat. I can’t let this happen. I won’t.

I go limp in his grip, just for a second, just enough to make him think I’m giving up. His hold loosens—not much, but enough. I throw my head back, smashing it into his nose. Marco curses, his grip faltering. I twist, jerking to the side, and his hand slips from my mouth. I suck in a breath and open my mouth to scream for Sandro?—

Blinding, white-hot pain slams into the side of my head.

He's punched me,I realize in disbelief.

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