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

Suddenly, Jimmy yanks his arm out of my grip, his hands clamping down on my shoulders and shoving me against the wall, causing me to drop the pan.

“You little fucking brat!”

It’s not hard enough to knock the wind out of me but I’m hyper-aware of the tiny life growing inside of me, needing my protection.

I can’t let on about the baby, not yet.

His face is inches from mine, and the fury in his eyes is terrifying. I can feel the heat from his breath and smell the booze on him.

Despite the fear coursing through my veins, I lock my jaw and meet his glare with one just as fierce. I refuse to let him see any fear.

“If you don’t start pulling cash from Enzo, I swear, kid, I’ll beat the shit out of you and your mother,” he hisses.

The threat hangs heavy in the air between us.

I jerk away from him, my back pressing against the cool wall. “And what do you think Enzo will do to you if you touch me?” I spit back, my voice razor-sharp.

He scoffs, his disdain clear as day. “You’re nothing but a toy to him. If you’re smart, you’ll use that to your advantage.”

“You mean to your advantage,” I snap back, anger boiling over. “I won’t do it.”

Jimmy’s face contorts into a sneer. “You have two days to bring me five grand. Trust me, you won’t like what happens if you don’t.”

I shake my head, anger coursing through me. “You’re bluffing,” I challenge. I refuse to believe even he could sink so low as to truly harm my mother and me.

Without warning, his hand flies out, slapping me hard across the face. The sting of it shocks me—Jimmy’s never hit me before. The slap rings in my ears, sharp and burning.

With every ounce of strength I have, I clench my fist and swing at him. The punch lands squarely on his nose. Pain shoots through my hand, but the look on his face tells me he’s hurting more.

Jimmy staggers back, shock written all over him. He rounds on me, his fist raised, ready to strike back. But I don’t flinch. I stand my ground, glaring straight into his eyes, daring him to do his worst. The challenge is clear.

For a moment, we’re locked in a standoff, the tension crackling in the air.

Then, slowly, he lowers his fist. He wipes his nose on his sleeve, blood smearing across the fabric. The threat comes low and menacing,

‘That money better be here in cash in two days, or I’ll finish what I’ve started.’

With those words, he turns and storms out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

As his footsteps fade away I’m left standing in the silence, my hand throbbing, my heart pounding.

Mom breaks down sobbing, and I rush over to her, ready to do whatever I can to make her feel better.

She looks me straight in the eye and says, ‘You’ve been right all along. It’s time to go. I can’t do this anymore.’

“You sure about this?” I ask her, just to be certain she’s really ready to make that jump.

“Yes, I’m sure,” she answers straight away. There’s a serious, resolved look in her eyes that tells me she’s thought this through. “I should’ve left years ago.’

I nod, fully on board. “All right, Mom. We’ll sort this out. We’ll find a new place, get away from all this as soon as we can.”

She grabs my hand, holding it tight. “I know it’s sudden, but staying here, wondering if every day might be the day he …” She doesn’t finish, but she doesn’t have to.

“No need to explain, Mom. I get it. And you’re right,” I say, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s time to find a safe place.”

She nods, and I see relief in her eyes. “We’ll make it work,” she murmurs, more to herself, her voice low but firm.

Together we start planning how to ditch this mess, our first real step toward getting out from under Jimmy’s shadow.

I tell Mom to start packing and to make it quick—we don’t know when my father might storm back in. She shakes her head in agreement, her movements sharp with urgency, and dashes off to her bedroom. I head to my apartment, feeling the weight of each step. I start shoving my life into a single bag, each item a reminder of how little I actually have.

As I pack, my mind drifts to Enzo, to the nights we’ve spent together right here, in my bed. A small smile tugs at my lips—at least I’ve got one good memory of this place. It feels like a little token I can carry with me.

Bag zipped, I grab my phone and pull up Enzo’s number. My stomach knots as I think about reaching out to him. It’s not like I have a lot of options left. I need help, and he’s the one person who might be able to give it.

I take a deep breath, my finger tapping the call button before I can change my mind.