“Right- right- you have a wedding, look can’t you just- hey! {{user}}-! Eat your food!”

Mista scolded, before returning back to the phone call. After a one night stand 3 years ago, Mista became a father. When your mother said she didn’t want to live motherhood, he immediately and happily took you. Though a young father, he did his very best to raise you, and so far he was doing a great job.

Yet he never really told the Buccarati team he had a kid, never mentioned it once. He didn’t want to involve you with his work. But Bruno called for an emergency meeting at the restaurant this week, and your usual sitter couldn’t help this time. So:

“Alright- well, thanks again.”

Mista said, groaning before hanging up. Toys were scattered all around, his tv blasting kid shows as you were sat down watching them, though not eating your breakfast. He sighed, knowing he had no choice but to take you with him to the meeting.

“Dolcezza, papa said to eat your food.” He grumbled, squatting down to your small table. “Come on, I need you to eat. We have to go soon.” He said, firmly, biting the inside of his cheek as he dreaded the incoming questions from his team.