In Love With The Mafia Kings Son

Chapter 26

Letty was about to start her coffee when a powerful, low growl of an engine outside signaled a disruption. It was too early for his designated pickup time, but she knew that sound.

Dante was standing on her doorstep.

Letty opened the door, her heart immediately starting to race. Dante stood there, in his church clothes still, holding a small bouquet of flowers. He looked down at her and gave her a slight smile that deepened the lines of his handsome face.

"Good morning, little one," he murmured.

Letty felt a genuine rush of excitement and warmth. She accepted the flowers, smiling. "Thank you," she said, her voice soft.

She let him inside. She quickly found a glass, put the flowers in water, and set them on a small table near the door. The simple, domestic act contrasted sharply with the dangerous man who had gifted them.

Letty suddenly became embarrassed by the apartment. Compared to the marble and gold of his compound, her home was small, worn, and utterly unremarkable. She gestured vaguely toward the staircase. "I just need to get ready."

Dante moved casually through the small space, his eyes taking in the environment. He stopped at a side table where framed photographs were displayed. He saw Letty, younger, with a brilliant, unrestrained smile, standing next to a beautiful woman who looked just like her—her mother.

He then looked at pictures of Peter in uniform, who looked younger and happier. Then there were later pictures of Letty showed a faint sadness, and the pictures of her mother vanished.

Letty returned downstairs, wearing her waitress uniform—a crisp white button-up with the sleeves folded to the elbows and black dress pants. She was twisting her hair up into a tight bun when she noticed Dante looking at the pictures, his gaze resting on her mother.

"That was my mom," Letty said softly.

Dante turned his gaze to her, his expression unusually gentle. "She was beautiful. I can see where you got your looks from."

Letty gave a small smile, then looked down. "Father used to say I was an exact replica of her."

Dante registered the change in her voice—the term "mom" was spoken with evident love, while "Father" was spoken with a cool, distant detachment. He saw the loneliness she desperately tried to hide.

Dante slowly walked up to her, his massive frame closing the distance. He reached out and gently touched her face, his thumb stroking her cheek.

"You don't have to feel alone anymore, Nicolette."

They stared at each other, the raw honesty of the moment thick with tension. Letty felt the tears swelling in her eyes, the protective barrier she maintained dissolving under the genuine comfort of his touch. Dante leaned in, his gaze dropping to her lips.

He was about to lean down to kiss her when the lock turned with a grinding sound.

The front door opened quietly.

Peter walked in. He was wearing his DEA blazer, looking stressed, tired, and deeply weary. His eyes were already red-rimmed from exhaustion, and he was too drained, too focused on the end of his long shift, to register the man's identity. He saw the large, unfamiliar man standing intimately close to his daughter and stopped. His professional guard was lowered by sheer fatigue, and he didn't recognize Dante.

Peter looked at Letty, his brow furrowed with concern. "Who's this?"

Letty hesitated for a moment, then calmly stepped away from Dante. "This is Dante. He's a friend from school. He's giving me a ride to work."

The explanation was simple and effective. Peter's face softened slightly from confusion to strained relief. He walked forward, putting out his hand.

"Oh," Peter said, nodding. "I'm Peter, Letty's father."

Dante immediately turned, meeting Peter's handshake with a firm, solid grip. "Dante."

Peter scoffed, rubbing his tired eyes. "Thank you for driving her. I don't really care for the bus. Lots of shady characters."

Dante gave a controlled smirk and a slight nod in agreement. "Very shady."

Peter turned to Letty, his voice distant. He didn't ask how she was, only confirming his own plans. "I've got to work double again tonight. Just coming back to nap for a few hours, then heading back to the station."

Letty's face was blank, the practiced mask of emotional suppression settling over her features. She pushed down her disappointment, then simply nodded. "Okay."

Peter stood there for an awkward moment, unable to express affection or connection. Letty walked past him toward the door. No hug, no goodbye kiss, and no "I love you" were exchanged.

Dante lingered for a moment, observing the profound, chilling distance between father and daughter. Peter took a deep breath, already walking toward the stairs.

"Nice to meet you, Dante," Peter said over his shoulder, his attention already on his sleep.

"You too," Dante replied.

Dante followed Letty out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

Peter stopped at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing his temples. He frowned, fatigue fighting with memory. Dante. That name sounded familiar.

He stood there, trying to connect the face of the polite, massive young man with the blurry file photos of the Mafia Heir. But before he could fully articulate the question—to ask Dante's last name—the sound of the powerful Shelby engine roared to life outside, and Dante and Letty were already gone.

---

The powerful engine of the Shelby roared to life, pulling away from Letty's small apartment. The tension inside the car was thick, a result of the awkward exchange and Peter's evident weariness.

Letty sat silently in the passenger seat, staring out the window. She fought desperately to keep her feelings locked down, but the brief encounter with her father had left her raw, exposing the familiar, painful reality of his neglect.

Dante glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. He could see the stiffness in her shoulders and the strained rigidity in her small frame. He could tell she was hurting emotionally. For some reason, it bothered him to see her upset—a complete anomaly in his life.

He was used to ignoring or causing others' misery; Letty's quiet suffering felt like a direct assault on his senses.

Driven by an instinct he didn't understand, he slowly reached over and rested his massive hand on her thigh, just above her knee. It was a silent, heavy pressure—a proprietary reminder that he was there for her.

Letty jumped slightly, her timid instinct to recoil failing as she looked down at his hand resting protectively on her leg. She felt a heavy lump in her throat. She wasn't used to comfort; she was used to suffering alone in silence.

The weight of the unacknowledged pain became too much. Before she could stop herself, she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rumble of the car.

"I can't remember the last time he said he loved me."

He didn't speak, but he gently tightened his grip on her leg, confirming his presence.

The powerful car rounded a final corner, and the brightly lit storefront of Trattoria Vecchia Napoli appeared too quickly. Dante had hoped the drive would last longer; he wanted her to stay, to hear more about the depth of her hurt.

But the sight of the restaurant snapped Letty back to her reality. She cleared her throat, pushing down the emotional intimacy. Her voice was suddenly professional. "Thanks for the ride."

She quickly reached for the door handle.

Dante's jaw tightened. The feeling of her soft warm thigh beneath his hand was instantly replaced by the cold leather of the console. He was still processing her vulnerability, and she was already gone.

---

Letty tied her apron, and immediately fell into the soothing, predictable rhythm of her job. The bustling noise of Trattoria Vecchia Napoli was a welcome change from the silent tension of the morning. Her natural efficiency meant the work was easy, and she quickly lost herself in taking orders in fluent Italian and balancing trays.

The dinner rush was in full swing when the bell above the door jingled, and the atmosphere shifted.

Chloe walked in, escorted by a random, older man who looked like he was paying for the privilege of her company. Chloe was dressed provocatively, her eyes immediately scanning the room until they locked onto Letty.

Letty’s heart sank. She recognized the cold, narrow venom in Chloe’s gaze—the threat that Lisa had warned her about. Chloe demanded a table, and by some cruel twist of fate, Letty ended up being their waitress.

Chloe was a nightmare customer. She asked complex, irritating questions about the wine list, complained about the lighting, and never made direct eye contact with Letty. Then, it happened. Chloe leaned back in her chair, gesturing wildly during a story, and her glass of red wine suddenly tipped over.

The crimson liquid spread quickly across the white tablecloth.

“Oh, accidents happen,” Chloe chirped, her voice dripping with false sweetness, though her eyes held pure malice. “Nicolette, darling, could you clean up this mess for me? I can't stand stickiness.”

Letty forced a tight smile, the compliance learned from a lifetime of suppressing conflict taking over.

She fetched a cloth and began to clean the stain, the humiliation of kneeling at Chloe's feet making her cheeks burn.

After delivering the appetizer, Letty desperately needed a moment to herself. She slipped into the back hallway and entered the small, utilitarian staff bathroom, leaning against the sink and taking several deep, stabilizing breaths.

A moment later, the door creaked open, and Chloe walked in.

Chloe ignored Letty entirely, walking up to the adjacent sink and turning on the faucet. As she slowly washed her hands, her eyes finally found Letty’s—not directly, but in the reflection of the mirror.

“You know it’s a faze, right?” Chloe said, her voice dry and conversational, completely cutting through the silence.

Letty didn't say anything, staring back at the dark intensity in Chloe's mirrored eyes.

Chloe chuckled, a sharp, humorless sound. “He’s only interested in you cause you’re new, exciting, and a virgin. You’re the shiny new toy right now.” She turned off the water and finally faced Letty, leaning against the counter.

“But like everyone else, he’ll get bored of you and move on,” Chloe continued, her voice gaining a cold, assured certainty. “He’ll come back to me. He always does. So, enjoy your time while it lasts, Nicolette.”

Chloe gave her a final, dismissive look and walked out of the bathroom.

Letty stood frozen, her chest heaving with sudden, painful breaths. Chloe hadn't just insulted her; she had pierced straight through to Letty's deepest fear—that her worth was temporary and conditional. The entire, dizzying week with Dante was based on a borrowed timeline, and Chloe was the living proof of the inevitable end.