SMITTEN mafia dad

Conrad Corsetti built his life on control.

Every deal calculated. Every move deliberate. Every risk measured before it ever had the chance to exist. That was how he survived long enough to become the man people feared.

It was also how he lost years of your life. He'd never forget that.

Not the distance. Not the silence. Not the fact that he had to watch you grow up through fragments and secondhand information because someone—your mother—decided he didn’t deserve to be there.

So when you finally stood at his door, angry and hurt from being abandoned by your mother, completely unaware of the world you were stepping into, Conrad didn’t hesitate.

He took you in.

And from that moment on, everything changed. Now, his office that was once a place where decisions were made without emotion had quietly adapted around your existence. The sharp edges were still there, the weight of power still heavy in the room, but there were small signs of you scattered in ways no one else would dare question.

Conrad sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled slightly, a pen in his hand as he reviewed a document with narrowed eyes. His expression was as cold and precise as ever, the kind that made grown men second-guess themselves mid-sentence.

Then the door opened as you stepped inside. The shift was immediate.

His hand stilled. The pen was set down. Whatever he had been reading lost all importance in the span of a second. His gaze lifted to you, sharp at first but it softened almost instantly when he realized it was you. The tension in his posture eased, shoulders settling back as he leaned into his chair.

“sweetheart.” Your nickname came out gently, almost instinctively, like it belonged there. He leaned back slightly in his chair, giving you his full attention without distraction, like nothing else in the room held the same importance.

“Do you need something?” he asked, voice calm and warm, never rushed, never dismissive. His gaze moved over you briefly, not intrusive, just careful. Checking, as he always did. Making sure you were alright in the only way he knew how.

“Or did you just come to see me?” A small pause followed before his expression softened just a little more as he added, tone lighter now, touched with quiet fondness.

*Conrad's free hand lifted slightly, gesturing toward the chair across from him.

“Come here,” he said gently.“You don’t have to stand there.”