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

“The whole damn city of LA is out there waiting for me, and I’m going to bed.”

I speak the words low under my breath as I sit at the bus stop, waiting for my ride home. The city seems to stretch out forever, a sprawling sea of glittering lights and the faint hum of distant traffic.

From my vantage point in the Hollywood hills, I can see Los Angeles shimmering below. The iconic skyline is illuminated, the buildings glowing like a cluster of stars fallen to earth.

Despite the beauty, there’s a sense of disconnect. The neon lights and bustling streets seem a world away from the quiet and solitude of the bus stop. The air is cooler up here, carrying a slight chill. The night feels alive, the city pulsating with an energy that’s almost palpable.

Palm trees line the streets, their silhouettes stark against the night sky. The Hollywood sign looms in the distance.

Yet in this small pocket of darkness, I’m alone with my thoughts. Namely, the fact that I need to be up at four-freaking-thirty in the morning for my personal trainer appointment with none other than Natalie Winters, an up-and-coming actress who seems on the verge of making her big break.

I’ve been in the personal trainer game for a few years, with my dreams set on opening my own gym. Natalie is, by far, the highest-profile client I’ve managed to land. As much as the city’s calling out to me, I need to get home and get to bed.

Natalie was a big get, but the little taste of success has only made me hungrier. With a few more clients like her, I’ll be able to quit waitressing and focus on personal training full-time. And most importantly, I’ll be able to afford a place big enough for my mom to move in with me, a refuge from Jimmy and his endless, chaotic bullshit.

Finally, the bus arrives, coming to a halt in front of me. I hop on, and thankfully, it’s mostly empty. An LA bus at this hour is a total crapshoot—you never know what kind of crazies you might encounter. I sit and get comfortable, the bus lurching forward.

As we wind down from the Hollywood hills, the landscape shifts around me. The elegant mansions and meticulously maintained streets give way to the urban buzz of East Hollywood. The transition from the bright lights to the more grounded atmosphere feels familiar and comforting.

Before too long, the bus arrives at my stop, and I hop out and make my way home.

Our home is small, but it’s ours. The exterior may be weathered, with chipped paint and a rickety wooden fence, but it holds a certain charm that I’ve come to appreciate. Then again, who the hell knows how much longer we’ll be able to say it’s ours? If Jimmy’s screwup manages to pull us under, we might be out on the street.

Suddenly, Jimmy’s car roars to life and peels out of the driveway, racing down the street and vanishing around the block.

What the hell is going on?

I hurry to the front door, which is slightly ajar. Inside, I hear sobbing. I hurry into the house; the place is a mess. In the kitchen, my mom is sniffling as she wipes up the floor.

“Mom?”

Life’s hardships have etched lines into her face. Despite being beaten down by her years with Jimmy, she carries a resilient grace.

“Oh, hi, sweetie. Careful—there’s glass.”

She lifts her eyes to me for only a moment before returning her attention to the mess at her feet. A small pile of glass lays on the kitchen floor, amber liquid pooling around it. I crane my neck to spot the label, and sure enough, it’s Jimmy’s brand of whiskey.

I hurry over. “Mom, what happened? Please don’t tell me he hit you or anything like that.”

Mom shakes her head weakly. I can tell right away that whatever went down between her and Jimmy has taken the fight out of her, at least for the night.

“No, you know your father doesn’t hit me, as angry as he gets. We were just having an argument, and I tried to get his attention, take the bottle out of his hand, and he yanked it. The thing fell on the ground and … splat.”

“Let me get it, Mom.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but it’s clear she doesn’t have the energy. I gently take the broom and dustpan from her hands and go to work. The smell of whiskey is thick in the air, almost intolerably so. Growing up with a father like Jimmy, alcohol never seemed all that appealing to me. I could count the number of drinks I’ve had on two hands and still have fingers left over.

“How was work?”

My mind flashes back to Jimmy sitting at the table across from me and then to Enzo Martelli. How the hell am I supposed to tell Mom any of that?

“It was fine. Pretty slow, so they let me go early.”

Mom eases into the chair at our small kitchen table, letting out a sigh. She’s weary—not just physically, but mentally. And I’d bet anything that Jimmy hasn’t told her the extent of what’s going on with his debts.

No need to add to her worries, not yet anyway.

“He didn’t hit me,” she repeats.

“I know. I believe you.” I brush the rest of the glass into the dustpan and fetch a paper grocery bag from the cupboard to dump the glass into. “But I bet he yelled, grabbed you, called you every nasty name in the book.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“It’s always bad, Mom. You don’t need to lie to me.”

I grab the roll of paper towels from next to the sink, ripping off a wad and placing them under the faucet. As I do, I notice that the kitchen’s still a mess from dinner. Mom hasn’t had a chance to clean up.

“You’re working early tomorrow, right, sweetheart?” she asks.

“Yep, bright and early. And I know you are, too.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve been pulling early shifts for as long as I can remember.” Her eyes light up like something just occurred to her. “You’re working with Natalie Winters tomorrow, right?”

Mom’s thrilled that I’ve been rubbing elbows with up-and-coming Hollywood royalty. I never have much gossip in my line of work, but that doesn’t stop Mom from asking now and then.

“Sure am.”

“God, she’s so pretty. And talented. What was that last movie she was in, the one with that guy from Euphoria?”

“Hearts on Fire?” I reply. “The one where he’s off at war?”

“That’s the one.” Mom places her hand on her chest, shaking her head. “She was so lovely. Hard to believe she’s not a bigger star.”

I drop down to my knees and start wiping the floor with the paper towels, making sure to get every last little granule of glass and drop of whiskey.

“She’s right on the verge.” I push myself off the floor and head over to the garbage can. “She’s got a lot of talent. It’s only a matter of time.”

Mom smiles. “And when she does make it, she’s going to take you right up there with her. Trust me, that’s how things work in this town.”

I laugh nervously. “Hey, if she can hook me up with a high-profile client or two, I won’t complain.”

Once the glass is all cleaned up, I give the air a spritz with an air freshener to clear the smell of cheap alcohol from the room.

Mom turns her attention to the rest of the mess in the kitchen—plates in the sink and a counter that desperately needs a wipe down.

“Okay,” she says. “You get to bed. I’ll take care of the rest of this.”

“Not a chance. You get to bed. You’ve had a long night.”

I know how these nights go when Jimmy storms off. He’ll go out, get wasted, show back up stinking of whatever cheap beer he’s been tossing back with his loser friends. When he comes back, there will be a fifty-fifty chance that he’ll be ready to start the fight back up, and Mom’s going to need her rest if that happens.

She opens her mouth to protest but quickly pauses.

“Thanks, sweetie. These fights with your dad … they just take it out of me.”

“I’ve been watching them for years. I get it.”

Mom comes over and wraps her slender arms around me. “Good night, baby. I’ll set my alarm so we’re both up.”

“Sounds good. Night, Mom.”

Moments later, she’s gone, and I’m left alone in the kitchen, a pile of dirty dishes waiting for me. The house is peaceful and quiet in the way it is only when Jimmy’s not around. The silence inspires me, reminds me how nice it’ll be when I finally earn enough money to get out of here when it’ll be just Mom and me.

I begin tackling the dishes, the warm water and suds filling the sink. As I scrub, my mind drifts back to Enzo Martelli. He’s impossibly handsome, with a brooding look that gives him an air of mystery. His steely gray eyes and salt-and-pepper hair make him seem distinguished, and his strong, commanding presence was palpable even from across the restaurant.

I find myself blushing, my heart beating faster as I think about him. There was something about his intense gaze that fascinated me, and the memory of how he looked at me sent a thrill through my body. I shake my head, trying to focus on the task at hand, but thoughts of Enzo keep creeping back in.

With each dish I wash, my cheeks flush a little more. I realize that I’m daydreaming about a man who’s as dangerous as he is attractive, and yet I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be closer to him.

I trudge up to bed, hoping Jimmy stays out all night. I quickly change and lie down, feeling the day’s weight pressing on me.

Once more, my thoughts drift back to Enzo. But this time, my mind gets a little carried away.

I imagine just the two of us in the restaurant, those gorgeous eyes locked on me. He gazes at me with pure hunger, like a wild animal sizing up its next meal. Slowly, he closes the laptop, rising from his seat at the bar.

Back in the real world, I find myself growing wet, my pussy clenching at the fantasy. My hand begins to move, almost of its own accord, from where it rests on my belly down to the waistband of my panties.

“You’ve been staring at me all night, you know,” he says, his voice in that low, deep timbre that vibrates my whole body.

“Just making sure you’ve got everything you need.” The reply comes out with an uncertain tone as if he’s got me right where he wants me.

Without a word, Enzo strides over to me, his eyes still locked on mine. He walks like he owns the place and like he and I are the only two people in the world. When he’s near, looming over me with his towering height, he places his hands on my hips.

“I don’t have everything I need,” he replies. “Not just yet.”

With that, he leans down and kisses me.

Enzo’s lips are warm and firm, tasting faintly of his Manhattan with a hint of something sweet and intoxicating. The kiss is tender yet intense, sending a rush of electricity through me. I feel a sense of security and passion that I’ve never experienced before.

Back in my bed, I’m moving my hand between my thighs, ready to take the fantasy to another level.

His hands gently cradle my face, and the world around us seems to disappear as we melt into the moment. The sensation of his lips on mine fills me with a heady mix of desire and affection, making me feel alive and cherished in a way I never imagined possible.

Just as I begin to really get into touching myself, my phone pings. With a grunt of frustration, I take my hand out and grab my phone from the nightstand.

It’s a text from an unknown number. My heart skips a beat. Could it be him?

I sit up, anxiety churning in my stomach. The thought of Enzo Martelli responding to my note sends a jolt of excitement through me, but I quickly temper my hopes.

He might just be telling me to get lost.

I hesitantly open my phone and read the text, my pulse quickening with each passing second.