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

I hold the tire iron like a lifeline, ready to bring it down right on the face of whoever’s the first one to open the trunk.

Never in my life would I have imagined that I’d be thinking about attacking my own father, prick though he may be. But something about knowing there’s a life I’m now responsible for has been unlocked inside of me, a part of me that I didn’t know was there.

The metal’s cool and hard in my hand, and I can’t help but shake a little bit, a combination of nerves and fear taking over.

The car slowly comes to a halt, gravel grinding under the tires. My heart’s beating so hard, pounding furiously in my ears.

Free. I need to get free.

I hear the doors open and shut, then the sound of gravel crunching under boots. Jimmy’s sniveling voice says something I can’t quite make out, and then there comes a response from the other goon. I squeeze the tire iron so hard that I begin to wonder if I’m about to tap into enough mama bear strength to bend the damn thing in half.

The footsteps come to a halt right outside the trunk. I hear laughter, then some more talking.

The lid opens.

I let out a war cry, springing from my position, tire iron in hand. But the flashlight in my face is so damn bright that even through the thin fabric of the bag over my head, it disorients me right away.

“Whoa! Feisty one!” I hear Jimmy’s goon say.

I swing the tire iron, connecting with something. A dull thud sounds, then a cry of pain.

I got him.

“Fucking hell!”

I hear Jimmy laugh then someone grabs my wrist, pressing down right in the middle of it in such a way that my grip loosens on the tire iron. It falls out of my hand and onto the gravel.

“Fucking tire iron,” Jimmy says. “Must’ve been in the trunk. You all right?”

“Fine. Just, damn, she swings hard.”

“Lucky she didn’t hit you in that ugly fuckin’ face of yours. Then again, maybe she could’ve rearranged things so you’d actually be halfway decent to look at.” Jimmy laughs at his own joke.

“Fuck you both!” I shout. With a last burst of energy, I attempt to scramble out of the trunk and run.

I don’t get far.

Jimmy and the other guy grab me, forcing me to my feet as I squirm and scream. Wherever we are, it’s a place where they’re not too worried about anybody hearing the commotion I’m causing.

They grip me firmly by the upper arms as I yell out every single swear word known to man. Gravel shifts underneath me as I kick my feet. They’re too strong for me, and I’m unable to break free.

“Should’ve gotten some chloroform or some shit,” the other guy says as they drag me. “Could’ve knocked her ass out and been done with it.”

A door opens, and they pull me inside into a cool space. Echoes sound out as I scream and shout, telling me that we’re in some kind of big, empty room. I’m doing my best to get free, but it’s no use. I had a little boost of adrenaline at first, but that’s long gone.

The two of them haul me up a flight of stairs, the effort making every muscle in my body scream from the strain and stress. I feel dizzy, my head spinning not just from the fear and the sudden movements but also from thirst and hunger. It’s been hours since I last ate or drank anything, and the stifling heat in the trunk didn’t help.

They shove me into a room that feels starkly different from the trunk’s claustrophobic space. I can sense the vast emptiness around us, the slight echo that bounces off what must be bare walls. Rough hands force me into a chair, the wood hard and unyielding against my back and bottom.

As they tie me down, the ropes biting into my wrists, a wave of lightheadedness washes over me, so intense that it nearly blacks out my vision.

The goon nursing a sore arm, thanks to my earlier swing, mutters to Jimmy, ‘Call Garadino. Let’s get this over with.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ my father grumbles, clearly annoyed but dialing anyway.

I’m struggling to breathe. The fabric of the bag that’s covering my head sucks inward whenever I take a breath, constricting my nose and mouth. My heart’s beating faster from the stress, and all I can think about is the baby. I’m no expert on prenatal care, but even I know this kind of stress, dehydration, and diminished oxygen can’t be good.

“Please,” I say. “Take the bag off. I can’t breathe in this thing.”

There’s a pause, then the other goon speaks. “What do you think, J?”

“She good and tied down?”

“You kidding? I did the knots myself.”

Jimmy laughs. “You say that like it’s a fucking mark of quality. Yeah, take the bag off. The last thing we need is her suffocating on us.”

The situation is so surreal. I can’t believe that my own father is talking about me in such a way, like I’m some random person whom he doesn’t care about lives or dies. Part of me wonders what would happen if I were to tell him about the baby, that I had his grandchild in my belly.

Would he have any sympathy then?

No, not if he knew it was Enzo’s kid. Hell, that’d probably make him giddy with excitement; he’d see it as extra leverage.

A hand grabs onto the bag and yanks it off, the rough fabric painful against my skin.

I take in my surroundings. Sure enough, I’m in some old warehouse office, a big space that looks out over the empty warehouse floor. The room is rundown and dirty, the furniture stained, and the paint on the walls peeling.

Jimmy’s accomplice is just as grungy as I would’ve guessed—tall and lanky, with long hair that’s thinning at the top. He’s got the lingering scent of booze on him.

He looks me over with beady brown eyes, his face gaunt and gross.

“She’s fine,” he says.

“Shut the fuck up, Graham!” Jimmy replies. “Phone’s ringing. Don’t need you yapping like a fuckin’ lovesick puppy in the background.”

He paces back and forth, the phone cradled to his ear.

“Yeah, I got her,” he barks into the phone in a casual tone, as if he were talking about snagging a good parking spot instead of kidnapping his own kid.

The conversation rolls on, Jimmy smugly making arrangements. “Yeah, that’s the deal. Fifty grand. You tell Garadino it’s handled,” he says, a sneer on his face as if he’s got the upper hand.

The betrayal stings, but hearing him talk about me like I’m just another one of his shady deals is a whole new level of low, even for Jimmy.

He wraps up the call with, “All right, we’ll be waiting,” then finally looks at me. It’s brief, filled with nothing but cold calculation and disdain. Not a shred of fatherly concern or warmth, just the shell of a man who’s sold out his own flesh and blood without a second thought.

He turns back to his planning, leaving me burning with a fierce resolve to get out of here.

“This is low, even for you, Jimmy. How can you do this to your own daughter?” I ask him, not sure I want to hear the answer.

He snorts, shaking his head. “You’ve been calling me Jimmy for as long as I can remember, and now you want me to go easy on you because we’re blood? Not a goddamn chance.” He raises an accusing finger in my direction. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re nothing but a mob whore who couldn’t even help her own family out.”

The tension in the room spikes as I finally find my voice, my anger giving me a razor-sharp edge.

‘Really? Weren’t you the one that wanted me to sell myself to Enzo in the first place? You tried to pimp me out to solve your problems, and now you’re pissed because you didn’t benefit!’ I spit the words at him, each one dripping with venom.

Jimmy stops pacing and turns toward me.

“What’s the point of you doing it anymore if you’re not going to help your own family?’ His voice is rough, accusing as if I’m the one at fault here.

I stare him down; my hands clenched so tight the ropes burn my wrists. ‘You’re seriously asking me that? You throw me to the wolves for your own gain, and now you’re wondering why I’m taking a little happiness where I can? It’s not about money, not that you’d understand anything that isn’t.”

Jimmy snorts out a laugh, a harsh, bitter sound. ‘Happiness? With Enzo Martelli? You’re just another one of his playthings. Don’t kid yourself, kid.’

The accusation stings more than I want to admit, but I mask it with a scoff. ‘At least he respects me, which is more than I could ever say for you. You’re not a father, Jimmy; you’re just the guy who donated DNA.’

Jimmy’s face darkens, his hands balling into fists. He steps closer, his breath foul as he hisses, ‘You think you’re better than me? That he’s better than me?’

The proximity, his threatening stance, it’s all meant to intimidate me, to break me. But I’m done being the victim. ‘I am better than you. And I’ll prove it by getting out of this and leaving you nothing but a bad memory.’

From my seat high up in the office, I spot the heavy warehouse door swinging open and two men stepping into the dim interior. Jimmy’s slimy companion mutters, ‘They’re here.’ They shuffle down the stairs to greet the newcomers, leaving me momentarily forgotten.

I crane my neck, trying to get a better look at the pair. The first one strides in with an air of authority that fills the room, a gruff, older man whose presence screams power. He doesn’t waste a moment—as soon as he’s close enough, he hauls back and lands a solid punch right on Jimmy’s nose.

The sound of the crack is satisfying, and Jimmy staggers back, clutching his face. He glowers at the man, a dangerous glint in his eyes like he’s considering retaliation. But the second man immediately steps forward, a looming figure who casually flashes the gun at his side.

The message is clear—don’t even think about it. Jimmy’s pal, Graham, or whatever his name is, staggers back in surprise.

Frozen, Jimmy holds his nose, blood seeping between his fingers. He straightens up, fixing a glare on the older man. ‘What the hell, Mr. Garadino?’ he spits out, his voice muffled by his hands.

Garadino doesn’t flinch. “You’re a fuckup, Jimmy. And I don’t tolerate fuckups.”

Their exchange is tense, and as they talk, I seize my moment.

Twisting my wrists, I work against the ropes, my heart pounding as I feel them slightly start to give way. My focus is intense—every fiber of my being is concentrated on getting free.

But then Garadino’s eyes flick upward. I freeze, heart in my throat, trying to appear still and subdued. He looks away, continuing his heated conversation with my father, and I let out a silent sigh of relief, resuming my efforts.

Their voices rise and fall, and I can’t make out what they’re saying, but then Jimmy’s raised voice carries through, ‘I brought her in as we agreed!’

Garadino scoffs, his reply lost in the distance and the echo of the warehouse. I need to get out—now—before I become just another casualty of their power plays.

As the tension escalates, Garadino’s anger becomes palpable, his voice cutting through the stale air of the warehouse like a knife. ‘The plan was to get some leverage on Martelli, to force him to the negotiating table. But not like this.”

Jimmy’s face contorts with defiance as he shoots back, ‘She should be all the leverage we need!’

Garadino steps closer, his voice low and menacing, a clear warning in his tone.

‘We don’t involve women or children in negotiations, Jimmy. You know the rules. We keep it clean.’

Jimmy bristles under the reprimand, his pride clearly wounded. His usual sleazy demeanor shifts into something dark and unpredictable.

‘Don’t tell me how to handle my family,’ he growls, his hands twitching as if itching for a fight.

Then, in a surprisingly quick move—faster than I would have ever credited him for—Jimmy’s hand darts to his belt, and in one swift motion, he pulls out a gun. The room falls eerily silent for a heartbeat before he levels it straight at Garadino.

The power dynamic instantly flips, and the air thickens with impending violence.

Jimmy stands tall, gun aimed with a shaky but determined grip, his expression twisted into a sneer of defiance and anger.

“Let’s finish this,” he says. “One way or another.”