Filed to story: Falling for My Ex's Mafia Dad Novel Free PDF (Fay Alden & Kent Lippert)
But my body responds and I feel myself leaning into him as he wraps me closer against his chest, as he bends me backwards under the force of his emotions, kissing me like we’ve come to the end of a great thing.
And then he lets me go, almost all at once.
Just drops me, his hands and his arms gone in an instant, so fast that I stumble back a few steps and Heathcliff shies a bit at my sudden movement. I put a hand out on the horse’s shoulder to steady myself, looking for Ivan.
But he’s already at the door of the stall, glaring back at me like he hates me now.
“Get out of the house, Fay,” he says, the words falling from his mouth like bricks. “Now. Immediately. Get out of the house this week, or…” he shakes his head and clenches his jaw suddenly, as if catching himself. But he hauls his gaze back up to mine for a brief second. “Or you’ll be dead, Fay,” he whispers. “With the rest of them.”
And I’m still staring after him, my mouth hanging open in shock, even after he’s gone.
A few minutes later Jerome comes back to the stall door, looking curiously over his shoulder. “He didn’t look to happy ” he says, but his sentence is cut short when he sees my face. I haven’t moved, not at all, from my place next to Heathcliff.
“Fuck, Fay,” Jerome says, hurrying in to take me by the shoulders, his eyes darting over my face. “Are you all right? You’re white seriously, it’s a cliché, but you’re as white as a sheet.”
I suck a deep breath in then, looking up at Jerome, and then I nod shakily. Jerome doesn’t believe me, though, and he wraps me in his arms, tucking my head in beneath his chin. He holds me for a long couple of moments, muttering kind and comforting things, stroking my hair softly as I come back to myself.
After a few minutes I pull away a bit, and he lets me.
“Seriously Fay,” he says, his voice desperate and curious and tender. “What the hell did he say?”
But I’m not ready to tell him now.
Kent. Kent has to know first.
And fuck…I want Kent, right now. Want to be in his arms.
“Can you take me home, Jerome?” I ask in a whisper. “We have to go home. Right now.”
_____________________
I steady myself a little bit in the car, and Jerome helps, realizing that I’m seriously rattled. So he does his best to make me laugh, cracking jokes and holding my hand the whole way home.
I’m smiling at him, grateful, as we drive through the gate and head for the garages at the back of the house.
“You all right, Fay?” he asks quietly as we pull into the garage and he parks the car.
“Yeah,” I say, and then I take a deep breath. “Thanks, Jerome,” I say, giving his hand a squeeze as I move to undo my seatbelt. He’s about to crack another joke in reply when I see him go still and then feel him rip his hand from mine. Confused, curious, I turn towards the windshield and see Kent standing there, glaring at both of us.
“Shit,” I murmur, moving slowly and talking fast as I realize that Kent just saw Jerome holding my hand. “Can you please just tell him that you’re sleeping with Daniel? So that he doesn’t kill you?”
“It will be a race,” Jerome mutters back, reaching for his door handle, “to see what makes him cut my head off faster: the sight of me holding your hand, or the news that I’m fucking his son.”
And I almost burst out laughing at that, but I glance at Kent again, and the laugh dies in my mouth. So I take another deep breath and step out of the car, turning to face him.
“You’re home early, Fay,” Kent says, stepping closer to me and glaring at Jerome, his expression clearly communicating I’ll deal with you later as Jerome heads back into the house, shutting the door behind him.
“I needed to,” I say, stepping close to Kent and then hesitating, glancing towards the door before stepping closer and wrapping my arms around his waist, needing a moment to feel him close to me. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Kent hesitates a moment before wrapping his own arms around me, holding me tight to him and dropping a kiss to the top of my head before letting me go and stepping back. His expression is sorry, I can read his regret all over his face if it were up to him, he’d hold me as long as I needed.
“What are you sorry for?” he asks, looking at me warily, clearly torn between being worried for me and suspicious.
And I swallow the truth a little. I’m sorry because I broke the rules I let Ivan touch me but suddenly, I really, really don’t want him to know. So I lie. “I’m sorry that I didn’t get more information,” I say, giving a sad little shrug.
Kent sees through me, I think, a little bit. But he lets me continue, I think because he can see that I’m truly rattled. “What did you get, Fay?” he asks, his posture shifting as he realizes that this is serious. And suddenly, as I look at him, there’s none of my Kent left. Just the Mafia King.
“A timeline,” I say quietly, straightening my shoulders and looking up into his face. “One week,” I say, my voice steadier than I thought it would be. “Ivan told me I have one week to get out of this house. Or else I’ll probably die. With the rest of you.”
And Kent stares at me for a moment before turning his head sharply and cursing a deep and steady stream of curses. And he doesn’t look at me again as he turns and storms towards the house.
I don’t say a word either as I hang my head and follow behind.
When we get into the house, my day is instantly made worse.
Because the first person we run into is Natalia.
“Ah, Fay,” she says, giving me a false little smile as she peers around Kent to look at me as I come through the garage door. “Good to have you home. You can help me cook!”
“Cook?” I ask, blinking at her, still rattled by my morning and Kent’s reaction to it.
“Yes!” she says, smiling at me and then up at Kent. I stare at her, confused, because there’s absolutely no way that she hasn’t picked up on either of our moods. And then I blink as I realize that of course she has she’s just playing her role as the perfect Mafia wife. The woman who lets her husband handle everything while she just blissfully maintains the home, trusting that he’ll keep it under control.
And I scowl at her as I figure that out. Because this morning just further proves that I’m the opposite of a Mafia wife, sticking my nose so far in this business that I’m not sure I’ll ever get it out. I see Natalia’s smile twist a little as she sees me scowl.
“I’m making dinner,” Natalia continues, looking up at Kent. “A proper Italian meal for my hungry Italian men!” Then she laughs and puts a too-familiar hand on Kent’s chest. “That is,” she says, pretending to hesitate a little and looking up at him with big doe eyes, “if that’s all right with you?”
“Sure, Natalia,” Kent says, loosening his tie and glancing back at me before striding off to his office. “Whatever you want.”
I stare after Kent for a moment and then look back to Natalia, who is smirking at me like she’s already won. “So?” she says, nodding towards the kitchen. “You will come help?”
“Sorry, Natalia,” I say, instantly shifting into my good fiancé act. “I already told Daniel I’d help him study.” And then I pout exaggeratedly at her and turn towards the stairs, my mind already beyond her and turning towards what the hell we’re going to do.
“You’ll have to learn to cook, Fay!” she calls after me in a teasing, sing-song tone, “if you want to be a good wife!”
“Not if we’re all dead, Natalia!” I mutter under my breath, mimicking her sing-song inflection as I haul myself up the stairs.
“Dinner at six!” she calls after me, louder this time. But I just roll my eyes and keep walking. Because honestly? We’ve got bigger problems than pasta right now.
I head down for dinner just before six o’clock, having spent the majority of my day laying in my bed, staring at the ceiling. But unlike the last time I did that, this day’s staring was fueled by melancholy, not rage, which is…way worse. Because while anger makes me seek solutions and want to tear the world to pieces, being sad and worried just feels…hopeless.
I’m still sighing as I push open the door to the kitchen, and it only gets worse when I realize that my cozy sweater and jeans were apparently not the correct attire for the evening. Natalia sweeps towards the patio carrying a basket of bread and wearing a flowing floral dress with not a speck of pasta sauce on it, despite cooking all afternoon. She sees me and immediately smirks, running her eyes over me like the unkempt ragamuffin that I probably seem to her.
I just take a deep breath and move immediately to the big fridge in the galley kitchen that I know holds the wine. As I get there, I see that Daniel has beaten me to it, closing the door and smiling at me when he sees me. “Hey,” he says, holding up the chilled bottle of white wine in his hand. “You want a glass?”
“Can you pour me two?” I ask, quirking my head to the side and blinking at him innocently.
Daniel laughs at me and just shrugs, taking two wine glasses down from the rack and pouring one much fuller than the other. “Why so blue, Fay?” he asks, bumping his shoulder against mine. “You okay?”
“I don’t know,” I sigh, looking up at him and opening my mouth to tell him what Ivan said about the threat to his family, but before I can begin Natalia is back, her eyes instantly on the wine glass in my hand.