My Mafia Mate
This was a test of Logan’s trustworthiness, his transparency about his life.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Logan met my father’s stare. “My father,” he began, his voice low and filled with an unmistakable sense of gravity, “is a mafia boss in our city.”
My mom’s hand instantly shot up to her chest as she gasped, a look of disbelief etched across her face. “You’re joking,” she said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Very funny, Logan.”
But Logan just shook his head slowly without saying a word, his gaze firmly fixed on my father, whose face was made of stone at that moment.
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