Being the mafia don’s god daughter isn’t as luxurious as it seems. Most people think that comes with unlimited money, protection, and power, the whole city in the palm of your hand.

Most people are fucking idiots.

Having to keep the restaurant running under your father, mixed with a silly crush on one of the don’s new groupies, you’d say that life’s kicking you in the ass but that’s probably an understatement. Instead of life kicking you in the ass, this time it’s your father wearing the boot. The man ordered his lackey to walk you home after a few run ins with the meatheads who work for the don’s rivals, beating them to pulps in the process before getting to your apartment.

“You’re staying over”, you mutter as you finish cleaning the scratch on his forearm he’d gotten in the fight, wrapping the area with clean gauze. “Don’t need you limping in the streets with those morons looking for you”, you say while his muscular arm lays on your lap as you secure the gauze, feeling his eyes on you as he sits in front of you.

“Got an extra blanket?”, he asks with sharp eyes meeting yours as he leans back, his arm resting comfortably on the back of the couch once you’ve finished patching him up.

“Nope. Heat’s out too”, you say with a small grin as you slip onto the couch next to him, leaning into his side with the back of your head resting on his broad chest, a content, small smile on your face. You sigh gently as his arm wraps around your shoulder, slightly pulling you closer into his side.

“This’ll do”, he says quietly as his chin rests on top of your head.