Sexting the Don: An Age Gap, Mafia Romance (Silver Fox Daddies)

“Hey, are you paying attention?”

Jimmy, or Dad, as he’s repeatedly told me he prefers to be called, grumbles in his seat at the table across from me.

“Sure, Jimmy.”

“God, I wish you’d stop calling me that.”

“I bet you wish a lot of things.”

We’re at La Serna, the upscale Italian place in Silver Lake where I work. Serving’s hardly my passion, but at the moment, I’d sure as hell rather be slinging chicken parm and stuffed bell peppers instead of chatting with my mooching, low-life dad.

“Pops, Old Man, Daddy-o,” he says, running his hand nervously through his thick dark hair. “Anything other than freaking Jimmy. It’s disrespectful.”

I flick my eyes at him. “It’s not really necessary to have this conversation. You know my stance.”

He snorts, shaking his head as he reaches for his glass of Cabernet. “Yeah, you’re right about that. I definitely know where you stand. You’re as stubborn as your mother, and one thing I’ve learned over the years is there’s no damn point arguing with her once she’s put her foot down.”

You actually learn things? You sure fooled me.

The thought pops into my mind. but I don’t say it aloud. My goal is getting Jimmy out of my hair, and arguing with him would be the least effective way to do that.

“Anyway, do you want to tell me why you’re here in the middle of my shift? You’re lucky it’s a slow day.”

La Serna, one of the new hot places in town, boasts a chic ambiance with dim lighting, elegant furnishings, and a menu that features classic Italian dishes alongside modern culinary creations.

Tonight, however, the place is unusually quiet, with only a few tables occupied, which is a small blessing as I endure this conversation.

Jimmy purses his lips and drums his fingers on the table for a moment, and then, he takes another sip of his wine.

“Any chance I could get another glass of this stuff?” He taps the rim. “It’s good shit, and I know you get an employee discount.”

My patience is dwindling by the moment. Jimmy’s got a hell of a lot of annoying qualities, almost like an onion that’s past its prime where you constantly peel away the layers only to find new rotten bits beneath.

Right now, he’s stalling, which means he’s got some bad news to relay. That’s usually the case with him. My father is one of those humans who always seems to have a black cloud hanging over him as a result of his own bad choices.

Typically, his bad choices involve only him, but the worried look in his eyes and the way he’s frowning make me wonder if it’s worse than usual this time.

Finally, he speaks. “You remember that investment I made a while back, the guys who were looking to start a little casino operation in Reseda?”

I sigh. “You mean the illegal sports betting ring?”

He winces again. “It was only technically illegal. Everything was on the up and up. No one was getting scammed or anything like that.”

Part of me wants to argue about the stupidity of what Jimmy just said, but there’s no point—he’s got a supernatural ability to rationalize his bad behavior.

“What about it?”

This question causes him to gulp down the rest of his wine. When the glass is empty, he waves to Kurt, our bartender, for a refill. Kurt glances at me and arches his eyebrows, asking without words, You want me to cut him off? I shake my head no. A few moments later, a fresh glass of Cab is placed in front of Jimmy.

“The guys I was working with,” he begins to explain. “Well, there’s no way to sugarcoat it. They screwed me. They fucking screwed me. They took all that fucking money I gave them and either pissed it away or ran off with it. They fucked me over!”

He slams his fist on the table, shaking the glass and silverware, the exclamation point at the end of his frustrated rant. There aren’t many diners in the restaurant, but those who are there look up. I gesture to Jimmy to chill.

“This is where I work,” I remind him, leaning forward and tapping the table with an index finger. “Please don’t make a scene or make me look bad.”

Jimmy gets a faraway look in his eyes, and I know the worst is yet to come.

“They took it,” he says. “It’s all gone. All that money I freakin’ scraped together and saved and begged for, it’s all gone. Those assholes said it was supposed to be a sure thing, you know? Front them a little dough to get things running, and then once the betting operation was up and running, we’d be printing cash.”

My blood runs cold as I realize what he’s saying.

“Jimmy, what do you mean ‘it’s all gone’? Please don’t tell me you dipped into what little savings you and Mom had for this?”

He presses his lips together into a hard, thin line.

Oh God, it’s worse than that.

“We didn’t have much of anything saved,” he says. “A couple of thousand. These guys said they needed more, at least ten large. So, I—”

“You borrowed it.”

Jimmy’s been in this kind of trouble before. When guys like him “borrow” money, it’s not from a bank, it’s from loan sharks, the kind of men who will do anything to recoup what they’re owed.

“I thought I’d figured it out perfectly,” he says pitifully. “The loan sharks tacked on an insane interest rate, but the money we were supposed to make was going to outpace that. A few months, and I’d be back in the black.”

My stomach roils at the implications. Jimmy took his and Mom’s savings, lost it, and then got them into even more debt with some unsavory folks.

“Tell me where you stand now,” I say. “And no bullshit.”

He takes another long sip of Cab. “We’re screwed. These guys gave me a month to start paying them back. And if I don’t …” He trails off, dragging the back of his thumb against his neck in the universal sign for decapitation. He doesn’t need to say another word.

I don’t even know how to respond. Jimmy just told me that he screwed the family, maybe for good this time. My heart’s racing. I’m not a low-life crook like my dad, but I know enough about that world by association to know what kind of sociopathic freaks inhabit it.

“They threatened to kill you?” I ask, trying to stay calm.

“Not directly. But I know they’ll come for everything I own,” he says. “Cars, furniture, anything that’s not bolted down. And when the house is totally empty, they’ll take that, too.”

Right now, there’s too much rage boiling inside me to feel anything else. Jimmy didn’t just put himself in danger; he put Mom in the line of fire, too. If Jimmy loses the house, that means they’re both out on the street.

“This is bad, Nugget,” he says, using my old pet name, the one he busts out when he wants to appeal to my soft side. “Really bad.”

I want to rip into him, scream my head off right in the middle of the restaurant. But I keep my temper in check. He’s never had a cool head, so over the years, I’ve had to learn that skill.

“I don’t have any money to give you,” I say. “I’m saving up for an apartment, and whatever I have left over goes to Mom, which means it goes to you.”

“I’ve been keeping a handle on our finances, Nugget, until now.”

“First of all, do not call me that.” There’s anger in my voice, venom dripping off my words. His eyes flash, and he’s taken aback.

“I just thought—”

“You clearly weren’t thinking at all,” I shoot back. “Because if you were, our family wouldn’t be in this situation.”

He puts up his palms in a surrender gesture. “Kid, this is bad. If we don’t get the money soon—”

“I get it.” I cut him off.

Jimmy offers a weak smile, then looks around admiringly.

“This is a nice place,” he says. “I bet you get a lot of fancy customers, people with money.”

I don’t know where he’s going with this, but I already don’t like it.

“Get to the point.”

“Listen, kid, I wouldn’t be suggesting what I’m about to suggest if I weren’t desperate. You know I like to keep my little girl out of my business, but—”

“Get to the point,” I repeat.

“Sure, okay.” He leans forward in a conspiratorial sort of way. “There’s this guy. His name is Enzo Martelli. Have you heard of him?”

I shake my head. “Enzo Martelli? The name doesn’t sound familiar.”

“He comes here every Thursday,” Jimmy says. “Supposedly, this is one of his favorite spots in the city. Today’s Thursday.”

“I don’t normally work Thursdays. I picked up the shift for someone else.”

Jimmy nods. “That explains why you’ve never seen him before. Listen, this Martelli guy, he’s a huge mover and shaker in the local organized crime scene. The guy’s got money, power, influence. In short, all the shit I don’t have and the shit that could get us out of our little jam.”

“You mean your little jam. We’re the ones caught in the crossfire.”

He shrugs. “We’re family, right? My problems are your problems, and your problems are my problems. That’s how it works.”

“Funny thing about that is how you seem to be the only one having problems.”

He takes another sip. “You never know what the future holds, Nugget. One day, you might need your old man to get you out of a jam. Stranger things have happened.”

“Right,” I say with sarcasm nearly oozing out of my pores until a cold spike of realization hits me.

“You don’t expect me to sleep with this guy?”

“Hey!” Jimmy says. His eyes flash then, and I see my own in them, reminding me how much I hate that I look like him. “Of course not! Just … work some charm. He’ll like you and want to help. This is how much we need.” He takes out a notepad and pen and scrawls down a number and hands it to me.

My gut tightens as I see the amount. “Are you kidding?” I ask. “You can’t be serious.”

“Desperate times,” Jimmy says again. “But yeah, that’s what we need. Otherwise, our whole family’s sunk.”

I feel sick to my stomach again.

“We might be able to get a loan on some better terms if you play this right,” Jimmy says. “Enough to pay off the loan sharks and get some breathing room. This Enzo guy, I’ve heard he’s brutal, but he’s also professional, an old-school, gentleman-type mobster.”

Is there such a thing?

Before he can say anything more, the front door to La Serna swings open, and I glance up, my breath catching as a man walks in. He’s tall, well over six feet, with a high forehead that gives him a brooding look. His grey eyes scan the room with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. His salt-and-pepper hair, broad shoulders, and thick chest give him a commanding presence.

“Speak of the devil,” my father says in a low voice.

Enzo Martelli is dressed impeccably in a tailored suit that was clearly tailor-made for him. The suit fits him like a glove, emphasizing his muscular frame and powerful persona. As he moves toward a table, I’m struck by how much authority and confidence he exudes, a raw masculinity that makes my heart race.

There’s something about him that just draws me in, a magnetic pull that’s impossible to ignore. I’m undeniably turned on by his presence.

“And that’s my cue to leave.”

“Now?” The word shoots out of my mouth as I watch Jimmy scramble out of his seat.

“Listen, kid. I’ve got a little bit of a rep around the city. People know my face. And they might not be inclined to grant any favors if they know I’m involved.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Jimmy shrugs. “Charm him a bit, tell him you’re in some trouble. Do whatever it takes to get him on our side. I’m sure you can do it. You’ll put this wine on your tab or something, right? I’m a little light.”

I’m left stunned as he adds, “Good luck, Nugget! Shoot me a text and let me know when you’ve got him on the hook!”

He doesn’t give me a chance to reply. Jimmy flashes me one more grin over his shoulder as he departs, leaving out the back door.

And just like that I’m alone, my family’s future hinging on whatever the hell it is that I’m supposed to do next.

I ease out of the chair, trying to play it cool as I clean up the table, bringing the empty wine glass over to the bar. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Enzo takes his seat. Kurt approaches him with a smile. Enzo’s face is impassive as he orders his drink. I can’t hear the precise words, but his voice is low, deep enough that I can feel it in my bones.

The sight of him makes my pussy clench and makes me wet right then and there. His moves are slow and deliberate as if the world is moving in his time. Enzo reaches into his leather bag and takes out a silver laptop. He places it on the bar and opens it.

There’s no one in my section yet, so I study him for a moment from a distance.

I step behind the bar and watch him. There’s something about him that is undeniably attractive. He’s wealthy, no doubt about that, but he doesn’t wear his wealth on his sleeve. His overall demeanor communicates his status more than any kind of ostentatious display would.

I take a position behind a wall at the bar. Kurt comes over to prepare Enzo’s drink.

“Hey!” I hiss.

Kurt cocks his head to the side. “Yeah?”

“Come here for a second.”

“Uh, sure. Let me just make this Manhattan.”

I can’t help but smile. Of course, a guy like Enzo would want a classic drink like that. Kurt makes the drink and takes it to Enzo before coming back.

“What’s up?” he asks, tossing his bar towel over his shoulder.

“That guy, what do you know about him?”

Kurt shrugs. “Not much. He’s an easy customer and a good tipper. He comes in every Thursday around this time and orders two Manhattans and a plate of mussels. Why?”

“I need to talk to him.”

Kurt arches an eyebrow. “That’s not a good idea. He’s always working when he’s here. He’s polite, but I don’t get the impression that he wants to be bothered. He always asks for me because he knows I won’t talk his ear off.”

“Okay, thanks.”

With that, I hurry out of the bar and into the bathroom. When I look in the mirror, my reflection reveals a petite but curvy woman with long brown hair and big brown eyes. I’m wearing my server outfit, which consists of a black button-down shirt and a black pencil skirt that clings to my curves. I smooth my hands down my clothes, hoping I don’t look as nervous as I feel.

I know what I’m about to do is risky, but as I look into my own eyes, I remind myself of the stakes. Enzo Martelli is the kind of man who could change everything for my family, and this might be my only chance to talk to him.

I reach into my apron and take out a pen and my check pad. After ripping off a sheet, I take a moment and then write my note.

It doesn’t say anything special, just my name and a few sentences hoping to make my case, along with the dollar amount Jimmy told me to make sure I included.

After I’m satisfied with what I wrote, I hurry to the manager’s office and grab an empty envelope. I write “Mr. Enzo Martelli” on the front, then I head back to the main floor, my head spinning.

Taking a deep breath, I turn back toward the door, ready to make my move. The way he’s working on his computer, pausing only to take a sip of his drink or spear a mussel, the guy could be any one of the other finance or entertainment bigwigs who come to eat here.

But as I continue to look at him, I get the feeling he’s different in a way I can’t quite put my finger on. Sure, I already know he’s different based on what Jimmy told me about him, but those hands, those big, rough hands … what has he done with them? Has he killed someone with them?

Nervousness is beginning to well in the pit of my stomach. The longer I stand here thinking it over, the more likely it is that I’ll talk myself out of going through with the whole thing.

Before I can make my move, however, Tommy, the manager on duty, comes over.

“Hey, Mandy,” he says. “It’s looking like kind of a slow night. Want to punch out early? You can pick up a lunch shift this weekend if you want to make up the time.”

Most nights, I’d be frustrated at missing out on the money. But tonight, with my unwanted task in front of me, I’m eager to do the deed and get out of here.

“Sounds good. Thanks, Tommy.”

He nods and heads out. Just then, Enzo pops the last mussel into his mouth, giving me my cue. I hurry behind the bar, swooping in front of him and taking the plate with the effortless grace that comes with being a seasoned server.

My heart’s pounding. Up close, he’s even more handsome; his steely grey eyes cut through the restaurant’s dim light to stare right into my soul. For a moment, I’m speechless, taken aback by the sheer intensity of his gaze.

I clear my throat, trying to gather my composure. ‘Do you need anything else?’ I ask, my voice coming out softer than I intended. Enzo looks at me, his eyes not leaving mine as he shakes his head. ‘No, thank you,’ he replies, his voice deep and smooth. He continues to gaze at me, his expression unreadable yet somehow captivating.

My hand is trembling slightly as I place the envelope on the bar. Before he has a chance to notice, I turn and quickly head back to the kitchen, my heart still racing.

I have no idea what’s going to happen next. But I’ve got a damn good feeling my life isn’t going to be the same.