My Don Paid Me 800. His Secretary Stole Millions Chapter 09

My Don Paid Me 800. His Secretary Stole Millions Chapter 09

Three months later, Rae’s Hot Dogs opened its doors.

In a small town in California.

Opening day, Knox wore a dark gray suit. No tie.

A hot dog-shaped cufflink pinned to his chest—I’d bought it at a flea market for five bucks.

Only a handful of people knew who he really was.

The new Don sat quietly in the corner, cap pulled low.

He gave Knox a small nod from across the street.

Knox returned it. Barely noticeable.

Two men who once ruled New York’s underworld, now separated by a single road, exchanging a silent acknowledgment.

Elaine was still in prison.

I heard she’d been beaten up for stealing something. Nobody claimed responsibility.

I overheard it in passing. Didn’t ask questions.

The people who’d hurt me were out of my life now.

—

Opening night. After closing, it was just me and Knox in the shop.

Warm yellow light bounced off the stainless steel counters.

The air still smelled like sausages and cheese sauce.

Knox wore an apron with our logo. Squatting by the sink, scrubbing the grill.

Sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing old scars from his territory days.

I leaned against the doorframe and watched him.

“Knox.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you regret it?”

He didn’t look up. “Regret what?”

“Giving up being Don.”

“Now you grill sausages, pack orders, make change for customers. No more mansion.”

He stopped scrubbing. Turned to look at me.

The light carved deep shadows across his face. But his eyes were bright.

“Rae, when I was Don, everyone was afraid of me.”

“But every night when I came back to that villa, you were the only one I could let my guard down with. Only with you could I really sleep.”

He stood up. Shook the water off his hands.

Walked over, leaned down, pressed his forehead to mine.

“I’m still busy now. But you’re always here. That’s enough.”

“Doesn’t matter where we sleep. As long as you’re next to me.”

I tilted up and kissed him, “Then tomorrow, you grill. I’ll pack.”

He closed his eyes in mock agony, “I’m starting to regret this.”

I laughed and punched his arm.

Outside, the California night was quiet.

A car passed, its headlights sweeping across the glass door.

On the bottom right of the sign that read “Rae’s Hot Dogs,” there was a tiny line of text I’d snuck in:

[Former Mafia Don Sauces In Person. No Scams Here.]

He hadn’t noticed.

Or maybe he had. And just didn’t care.

Either way, he was stuck with me now.