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

This is Enzo Martelli. How do you think I can help you?

I’m seated on the leather chair in my study, a glass of bourbon in one hand and my phone in the other.

The text on the screen is blunt and to the point. Maybe a little colder than I need to be for a woman like the one on the other end.

All the same, I need more information. I need to know if she’s pulling something, maybe on behalf of her father. Jimmy Charles’ reputation isn’t a good one, and it wouldn’t be a surprise to learn that he was trying something shady.

I sip my bourbon, thinking it over. I’m not a family man by any means, but the mere notion of a father using his daughter in that way is enough to make me sick to my stomach.

I push those thoughts aside for the time being.

My mind keeps drifting back to Mandy. Her curvaceous figure and the way her black server outfit clung to it was seductive. Seeing her at the restaurant gave me an unexpected thrill in a place where I typically focus on business.

I catch myself thinking about the way her eyes looked at me, filled with a mixture of hope and anxiety. The memory sends a rush of excitement through me, a rare feeling for someone who’s usually so pragmatic.

I realize I wanted her from the moment I laid eyes on her.

But just as quickly as my thoughts begin to wander, I snap out of it when I see the three dots of an incoming text message appear on my screen.

Hi, Mr. Martelli. Thank you for reaching out. I appreciate your time.

I want to gather as much information as possible without revealing too much of my hand, so I decide to keep the conversation straightforward.

Hello, Mandy. Tell me more about your situation, I reply, keeping my message brief and to the point.

I wait, my eyes fixed on the screen as I think about her. I imagine her sitting somewhere in her undoubtedly small apartment, anxiously waiting for my response.

My father got into trouble with some loan sharks. We’re about to lose our home because of his gambling debts. I don’t know where else to turn.

Her words are honest and desperate. I already know that Jimmy is her father, but I need to know what she plans to do if I decide to help her. I type my response carefully, not wanting to give away too many of my own intentions.

What do you plan to do if I agree to assist you? I ask, curious about her next steps. I lean back, pondering what she might offer in return for my help.

Mandy’s reply comes after a brief pause.

I’d like to move out with my mother. I just want to get away from him and start over, she writes.

It’s a straightforward and sincere response. But what I really want to know is what she’s willing to do for me if I help her. I’m not looking to do anything untoward in exchange for the money, but I’d like to see how serious she is and make sure she’s not merely looking for a handout.

I decide to probe a bit further.

And what can you offer me in return for my assistance? I text back.

I watch as the three dots appear again on my screen, my anticipation building. I’ve seen women in desperate situations before, but something about Mandy feels different.

I wait for her response, keeping my phone close at hand.

I don’t have much, Mr. Martelli, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes to repay your kindness. I’m a hard worker, and I’ll find a way.

Her response feels genuine, and while her offer is vague, it leaves the door open for negotiation. I decide to push the conversation forward carefully, maintaining the appearance of a businessman exploring an opportunity.

That’s a good start, I text back. But I need specifics. How would you handle repaying your debt to me?

There’s a pause, and I can almost imagine her weighing her words carefully before responding.

I have some savings, and I can work for you. I’m willing to negotiate the terms.

Her innocence shines through, and I find myself wanting to help her out of genuine concern. Still, I want to see how far she’s willing to go, so I decide to gently push the envelope.

I admire your dedication, Mandy, I reply. But I’m looking for someone who can meet my needs in various ways. Are you prepared to go beyond just working for me?

I make sure to phrase the innuendo in such a way that it allows for plausible deniability. If she’s not interested, I can easily dismiss it as a professional query. However, if she’s receptive, it opens the door for more intimate negotiations.

The response time grows, and I wonder if she’s second-guessing her decision to reach out. Eventually, her response comes through.

I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Martelli, she writes, clearly cautious but not dismissive.

I smile, appreciating her careful approach. She’s innocent but not naive. I decide to be a bit clearer.

I’m talking about a mutually beneficial relationship, Mandy. One where we both get what we want. If that interests you, let’s meet to discuss the details.

I wait for her reply, my mind lingering on the potential this conversation holds.

But nothing. No dots. I finish my drink and step over to make another, the alcohol is starting to work its magic.

Once the drink is in hand, I step over to the window of my study. The view is one that never gets old, the glittering city sweeping before me from my Hollywood Hills home.

As I wait for Mandy’s reply I shift my focus back to my computer, ensuring my accountants’ work is up to par. I’ve learned the hard way to never fully trust anyone with my money. That lesson has been crucial in safeguarding my interests.

I open my financial software, scrolling through the spreadsheets and accounts with a sharp eye. The numbers are neat and orderly, just how I like them. I scrutinize each expense and revenue entry, cross-checking them against my internal records. My eyes swiftly scan through the data, pinpointing any inconsistencies with the precision of a seasoned strategist.

Spotting a minor discrepancy in one of the expense accounts, I make a mental note to address it. I can’t afford to let even the smallest error slip through, knowing full well how minor issues can escalate into larger problems if left unchecked.

I turn my attention to my investments. Diversification is key, and I ensure my assets are strategically spread across various sectors. It’s a delicate balancing act, but one I handle with precision.

Satisfied with my review, I close the financial reports and lean back in my chair, my thoughts drifting once again to Mandy. Even in business, I maintain my flexibility, shifting from one priority to another without losing focus.

A memory unfolds in my mind, taking me back to when I first took over the family business. I remember the day vividly, the day one of my trusted friends, Tony Russo, betrayed me. He had been with the family for years, but greed clouded his judgment, and he stole thousands from me.

I had called Tony into my office, my gaze steely and uncompromising as I sat behind my large wooden desk.

Tony shifted nervously in his seat; his usual confidence replaced by a thinly veiled panic. I leaned forward, my fingers steepled as I watched him squirm.

“Tony, you’ve been with the family a long time,” I said, my voice cold. “So maybe you can tell me why there’s money missing from the accounts?”

Tony’s face went pale, and he avoided eye contact. “Enzo, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered. “There must be some mistake.”

I raised an eyebrow, my patience thin. “A mistake? Tony, the only mistake is thinking you could steal from me and get away with it.” My voice was firm and filled with the authority I had earned as the new head of the family.

He hesitated, his hands trembling. “I swear, Enzo, I didn’t plan for this to happen. I just needed the money. My debts—”

I cut him off, slamming my hand on the desk. “Your debts? You betrayed your real family for a few bucks? How much did you take, Tony?”

His eyes filled with tears as he broke down, unable to maintain his façade any longer. “I took $50,000, but I was going to pay it back, Enzo, I swear. Please, give me another chance.”

I shook my head, my expression unyielding. “You should have come to me, Tony. You should have trusted me to help you out. Instead, you stole from me. You know what that means in our business.”

Tony’s pleading eyes met mine and I could see the fear in them. “Please, don’t do this. I made a mistake. I’m begging you.”

But it was too late. The betrayal was too deep, and in our business, loyalty is everything. I stood up, looking down at him with a mixture of disappointment and resolve.

“You made your choice,” I said, my tone final. “Now you’ll face the consequences.”

That was the last conversation we had. Tony’s betrayal was a harsh lesson, but it taught me the value of vigilance. His fate serves as a warning to anyone else who dares to cross me.

The memory fades, and I return to the present.

My phone buzzes. I pick it up, Mandy’s response bringing a smile to my face.

I’m open to exploring what a mutually beneficial relationship could mean, Mr. Martelli. Yes, let’s talk about it.

Her words are innocent, but I can sense her flirtatious intent. Maybe this night is going to turn out better than I expected. I sip my drink, savoring the rich warmth as I let her response sink in. The potential of this exchange has me feeling intrigued and slightly exhilarated.

I turn my attention to the sweeping LA vista outside my mansion. The city lights spread out before me, a vibrant tapestry of opportunity and excitement. The energy of the city resonates with me, amplifying the thrill of the moment.

This is going to be fun.

Mandy’s willingness to engage has sparked something inside me. While I’m still cautious, there’s a sense of adventure, a thrill of the unknown. I finish my drink, feeling a sense of anticipation for the conversation that lies ahead. It’s not often that I find someone who piques my interest both professionally and personally, but Mandy has managed to do just that.

The night is young, and the possibilities are endless.