Matched With My Incubus Dad

As the Mafia principessa, my dad banned men from my life growing up for my protection.

However, when I turned twenty, my mom suddenly started arranging blind dates for me.

“Please. Just go meet him.”

“Mom, I’m only twenty. Am I supposed to get married already?”

I didn’t understand her urgency.

“I know, I know, but—”

After hesitating for a long time, I finally said what was really bothering me.

“The guy you introduced is almost fifty. He’s old enough to be my dad!”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then my mom spoke carefully.

“Well, actually… it’s possible he really is your father. I was young and foolish back then. More daddies, more options, right?”

My silence must have been deafening because she hurried to backtrack.

“Okay, okay. He is a little older, but he’s seriously handsome! A daddy among daddies. Incubus‑level hot!”

“Mom, stop talking nonsense,” I said. “If Dad hears this, his pure-love, romance brain is going to jump off a building.”

I thought my mom was just making things up and didn’t believe her for a second.

However, on the other end of the line, her tone was unusually serious and with a hint of regret.

“I’m not making things up. Honestly, what’s wrong with you? How did you not inherit even a little of your mom’s lust for good-looking men?”

Actually, I did inherit it. However, inheritance was evenly split. While I got my mom’s attraction to men, I also got my dad’s honest, pure-love personality.

My dad became the ultimate hopeless romantic don. Outside, he’s powerful. At home, though, he’s a good man who obediently washes his beautiful wife’s feet.

So I grew up into an honest pervert.

I lusted for men. However, the moment I saw one, I couldn’t say a single word.

Just like my dad, I’ve lived honestly and barely dated.

Still, my drawer is full of toys, and I’ve paid for VIP memberships on certain websites.

I really couldn’t understand it. Could it be… that I was actually picked up from a trash bin?

“Mom, can you explain this properly? What do you mean, ‘he might be my dad’? I’m only twenty. I’m not ready for this kind of childhood trauma!”

My mom was vague.

“I sent you his contact on WhatsApp. Add him, meet once, and you’ll understand.”

My heart jumped. I got even more nervous.

“No, no, no. I don’t want to. I’m not adding him.”

“I already sent it,” she said. “Just treat it as helping me ask about what happened back then. Have a proper chat!”

I was close to breaking down.

Mom always looked gentle and virtuous. I never imagined her youth had been this exciting.

Of course, as her biological daughter, I knew a little. All of it came from my dad crying while drunk, talking about how hard it was to win her over.

“If I hadn’t been chosen as the new don in the middle of a