Page 5 of Her Dream Mafia Daddy

He was patrolling the outer perimeter of the property. He loved these quiet rides on Avalanche, his 10-year-old quarter horse. He could see for miles from the top of the ridge and felt on top of the world up here. It was summer now, but soon the weather would change and the conditions would become harsher, more dangerous, more opportunities for things to go wrong. He was getting ready to head in the other direction when he heard a sound behind him. Drawing his gun out, he steered Avalanche around to see the incoming threat. Only it wasn’t a threat. It was Finnean, his consigliere.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Finnean. I was about to blow your brains out.” His heart was thumping.

“Sorry, boss,” he answered sheepishly, running his hand through his hair. “Thanks for not shooting me.” They both laughed.

“What the fuck do you want? You know this is my time to clear my head so I don’t fucking kill anyone.” He really hated to be disturbed on these rides.

“Again, sorry for the disruption, boss. We have a bit of a… situation that needs your attention sooner rather than later.”

He was immediately on edge and alert. “What kind of situation?”

“The kind involving that dickwad Callum.” He sat forward on Maverick, petting his mane, eyebrows raised.

“That motherfucking idiot. I’m going to kill him.” Callum had been a thorn in his side for as long as he could remember. He was always doing shit he wasn’t supposed to and making his life hell. He had moved west several years ago and he thought he was done having to deal with him. Apparently he was back to make waves on the east coast again. Snapping his eyes to Finnean, he barked, “Call a meeting.”

“Yes, boss.” Finnean took off towards the mansion, and he knew everyone would be gathered soon. He moved slowly towards the main stable on his estate, wanting to enjoy the silence for as long as possible. There were a total of four massive stables on property, housing a variety of breeds of horses. He dabbled in a bit of everything when it came to the impressive creatures and he was proud of the operation he had going.

He had a mix of Thoroughbreds, American Quarter horses, Clydesdales, and Percherons. He cross-bred the American Quarters and Percherons he used for trail rides and other ranch activities. Percherons were massive draft horses. They were gorgeous and came in a variety of different colors and markings. He had his gorgeous Clydesdales to move the Christmas trees he grew on the farm. The Clydesdales also pulled wagons in the winter for the tourists who visited the town, a very profitable activity given the popularity of the breed. He saw more proposals in the sleds than he could count. He raced horses as well. He had two who lived in Kentucky, but he also had several here.

He loved rescuing horses from kill pens and giving them a second chance at life. Some of his horses became what he called pasture puppies, where they just kind of lived and grazed and didn’t have a specific job. Most of his horses, however, loved to have a job to do. He treated all of his animals well. They always had plenty of grass to eat and he took pride in his operation. Living on over 5,000 acres of land, he had plenty of space for his horses.

Normally, he liked to cool Avalanche down himself after a ride, but given his lack of time, he left it to the stable master to take care of. Petting his muzzle, he murmured, “Good boy, Avalanche. Murphy is going to get you cooled down and some fresh hay and grain while I go take care of whatever bullshit Callum is up to.” He stroked his muzzle and gave him a few treats before heading to the house.

Pulling the wide leather belt from the loops of his pants made the most satisfying sound, and he smirked as he tossed it on the bed. He missed having a naughty sub of his own to punish. He had plenty of ‘nieces’ to discipline when warranted, but he missed having a sub or Little of his own. He was sort of the town disciplinarian. All Mommies and Daddies could use him as a threat if their Little Ones were too naughty. He’d had more than one of them across his knee for a bare-bottom spanking, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the hell out of it.

Just thinking about it made his cock hard. It pulsed as he removed his shirt and jeans and stepped into the shower. His cock throbbed as he stepped into the steaming shower. He let the hot water wash away every bit of tension as he rubbed up and down his length. He wished it was a hot mouth or pussy. He imagined putting the girl of his dreams on her knees as he fucked her mouth. She would be sweet and submissive, but sassy and able to hold her own against him. She would love his whips and his dominance as much as she loved his soft Daddy side. She would have thighs he could hold onto while he fucked her into oblivion. His hands moved faster as he thought about the woman kneeling, sucking on the full length of his cock, her warm mouth encasing him, driving him mad as she sucked and swallowed every last drop like the good girl she was.

With that delightful thought, he came hard, his seed shooting out in streams. His hand braced on the gray tile, his breath ragged as he stroked every ounce of pleasure he could. Getting his breath under control, he stood back and finished his shower. He knew his men were waiting and he couldn’t keep them any longer. He got out and wrapped a black, fluffy towel around his waist, low on his hips.

He looked at himself in the mirror and rubbed his hands through his graying hair and beard. At fifty, he was tired of being alone. He was fit and good looking, and definitely did not feel his age. He kept his body in good shape, working out and riding horses. It wasn't like he didn't have any dates, he just never found someone he wanted to be with long term. Sighing, he finished getting ready, dressing in his signature black Armani suit, thin black belt, and silver horseshoe cufflinks.

He strode with the confidence of a man in charge into the large conference room in the basement of his mansion. It was a large room where he held all of his business meetings. A custom mahogany table for twenty men sat in the center, several large TVs on the walls, and a door to the armory and safe room were on the opposite side. This room was on a full generator, so no matter the weather, they were prepared for anything.

Standing at the head of the table, Finnean beside him, he addressed the men. “I hear we have a problem with Callum. Fill me in.” He eyed his men, his arms crossed over his chest.

“There are rumors, and while we don’t normally listen to rumors, the nature of this has us alert.” Rory, his underboss, spoke first. “There are rumors he is opening a club in the neighboring town, but it’s the method in which he is staffing this club. There are rumors he is trafficking women, some underage. We don’t harm women and children, and trafficking is against our code. I will do anything to protect these girls.” The fierceness of his voice caused Eamon’s eyes to rise in shock.

“Of course, Rory. I will burn the fucking world to the ground before I allow anything of the sort to happen anywhere.” He sat down, drumming his fingers on the table. “We need information. I want to go in, guns a-blazing, but that would be suicide, so we need information.”

“Agreed, boss.” Kellen, his capo, spoke up next. “I think it would be wise to put soldiers undercover to see what they can come up with. I have some new recruits who I think will work. They can get in, befriend Callum, and figure out what the fuck is going on.”

Eamon was deep in thought, contemplating those words. “Do we trust them?”

“Yes. They have proven their loyalty and will be perfect.” Kellan had worked for him for years. As his cousin, he trusted him and his advice. He was a damn good capo, and he needed to trust him even more now.

“Fine. Get me the names of these soldiers and let’s meet tomorrow to discuss logistics. I want everyone on the same page.” Eamon was on edge and this needed to be perfect. Nodding, Kellan got up and left the room, presumably to get his soldiers lined up and ready for the mission.

“I want someone on Callum at all times. Don’t let him know we’re following him, but I want to know every fucking move he makes. If he farts, I want to know about it.” His lips twitched as everyone chuckled. “You know what I mean, assholes.” His mock glare did nothing to stop the laughing. For a bunch of badass mafia men, they were all immature idiots who laughed at the mention of a fart.

Rolling his eyes, he said, “Ok, Rory, you’re in charge of figuring out who is going to be on him.”

“Got it, boss. I’ll make sure I have the best fart sniffer on the job.” Rory laughed as Eamon threw a wadded-up piece of paper at him.

“Smartass.”

“Better than a dumbass.” Rory smirked and stood up to leave.

“Oh, before you go, I want the town on alert. All Littles and submissives are not to leave the sight of their Mommy or Daddy or Dom. Everyone has to be safe. If they need anything, we will get it for them. They are not to travel to Whitescar without one of us. Me and my paddle will deal with anyone caught going there alone.”