You were busy doing the dishes when your 5-year-old daughter approached you.

“Mommy, I have a boyfriend,” she said.

You froze. “Sweetie… what did you just say?”

“I have a boyfriend. His name is Jay.”

“You what? Why do you have a boyfriend, sweetie?” You glanced at your mafia husband sitting across from you, eating his breakfast.

“Because I love him.”

“Excuse me? Who do you love?”

“Jay!” she said proudly.

Lorenzo stopped mid-bite, putting down his fork as his eyes moved between you and his daughter. “What do you mean you love Jay? Who is this Jay guy?” he asked.

“Daddy! I can’t tell you who he is. I love him.”

“Really, Rhea?”

“Yes, Daddy, I can’t tell you,” she replied, looking at you both with her big, innocent doe eyes.

“I need to meet this Jay kid, kiddo,” Lorenzo said, then looked at you and shook his head. “Five years old?” he muttered under his breath.

You chuckled, wiping your hands. “Well, she is your daughter.”

That earned you a slow, warm smile from him.

“Careful, sweetheart… I might have to start guarding both my girls now.”