Filed to story: Falling for My Ex's Mafia Dad Novel Free PDF (Fay Alden & Kent Lippert)
“Dad,” Daniel says, looking up at him. “This was mom’s ring…”
Kent nods sharply, holding out the box to him. It’s not really an offer.
Daniel sighs and takes the box, lifting the ring from it. He looks at me and cocks his head to the side. My fingers shaking a little, I raise my hand. As Daniel takes it and starts to slip the ring onto my finger, I wonder what this means.
Is this a tacit agreement to the engagement? Or some sort of ploy for when I meet my father? Is Kent trying to mark me as part of his own family, even as I meet my own?
My questions are interrupted, though, by the feeling of the ring sticking at my second knuckle.
Daniel pushes harder, but it won’t budge.
“Um, dad,” Daniel says, looking between us. “I think it’s too small.”
I bite my lip, embarrassed. I guess Daniel’s mom had slimmer fingers than me.
Kent glares at Daniel and then nudges him aside, taking my hand in his own. Deftly, he angles the ring so that it slips over the knuckle, and then presses down. I look up into his eyes as the ring slides home to the base of my finger.
I hold my breath, almost, as I feel my cold hand in his warm one, the weight of his ring on my finger.
He stares back at me, his lips parting slightly, revealing clenched teeth behind.
“Thanks dad,” Daniel says, a little awkward, breaking the tension as he takes my hand out of his father’s grip, holding it gently in his own. He gives his dad a weird look and then turns his attention to the ring.
“It looks good on you, Fay,” Daniel says, looking me in the face and smiling.
I hesitate a little, trying to smile back, and then focusing on the ring. This incredible, gigantic, insane rock on my finger.
It’s beautiful, but…
Before I can consider it any more, the room goes quiet, the band dying awkwardly off as they notice that everyone has stopped dancing and has turned towards the door.
Footsteps echo as a man walks in, a woman in a slinky grey dress only a few steps behind. Following her are at least four guards, probably more, though I can’t see any further behind them to count.
He’s a tall man as tall as Kent, but older, bulkier. His fine pinstriped suit is tight across the paunch of his stomach, but he has a certain power as he begins to cross the room towards us, surveying the crowd as he goes. The woman he came with moves away to the bar.
I hold my breath as the man walks over to us, his eyes sweeping over me from head to foot.
He shocks me, though, by ignoring me when he finally arrives. Instead, he turns to Kent and puts out a hand.
“Lippert,” the man says, not smiling. Kent accepts the hand, shaking it.
“So glad you could come, Alden,” he says and then silently returns his hands to his pockets. He lets Alden take the lead.
Alden nods and looks back at me. “So. Is this her?”
Kent nods, putting a hand between my shoulder blades. Encouraged, I raise my chin and stand before this man, letting him look at me, feeling, more than anything, like a horse at the market. I wonder, passively, if he’s going to start counting my teeth.
“Alden,” Kent says, “this is Fay Thompson. Your daughter.”
Alden narrows his eyes at me and looks back at Kent. I’m a little shocked, I admit, that he hasn’t addressed me yet. I stand awkwardly in front of him and Daniel quietly takes my hand, giving it a squeeze of support.
“Is this for real, Lippert?” Alden asks, a threat behind his glare.
Kent nods slowly. “We did a test. It’s a 99% genetic match for paternity. I can show you the paperwork upstairs, and you can have it verified by your own doctors. But, with that kind of proof at hand, Alden.” He spread his hands out, hoping Alden takes him at his word. “Why would I lie?”
Alden nods and returns his gaze to me, staring for a moment. Then, he shocks me again by breathing out a huge breath of air and rubbing a hand down his face. “Damnit, but you look like your mother,” he mutters.
My mouth falls open when I see the glimmer of tears in his eyes. My heart goes out to him, then. He’s a solid rock of a man, but I can see that deep feelings run beneath.
“Where is she?” he demands.
Surprised, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “She died,” I say, grimacing inwardly at my bluntness. Alden’s face falls minutely. Surely, after all these years, he knew it would be unlikely that she would be alive, but still he’s upset by the news.
Alden works hard to arrange his face in the impassive mask he had when he entered the room. I bite my lip, knowing that the news has hurt him.
“When?” he asks.
“Years ago,” I whisper, sorry to be the one to tell him. “I was young I had just turned six.”
I feel horrible I had no idea that he cared for her as much as he clearly does. I had assumed she was what had Fiona called herself? a goomah. His mistress, or his girlfriend, not someone he really I cared about.
“How?” He asks, crossing his arms over his barrel chest.
“A car accident,” I say, my voice hardly more than a whisper now. “They said…they said she went fast. No pain.”
He nods sharply and then turns his head away, gathering himself together. “And where has she been laid to rest?” Alden asks, not looking at me.
“In a small cemetery by our home in the churchyard. I can take you there, if you like,” Isay, my voice gentle.
He’s angry then, instantly, his emotions snapping from sadness to anger at the flip of a switch. He turns his burning eyes to me. “In a churchyard?” He shakes his head. “He didn’t respect her, then, the man she left me for,” he growls. “To bury her in a churchyard, when she deserves to lay in state, in a mausoleum.”
I find my own emotions turning, then, from pity to anger. How dare he suggest that David was anything but an angel in our lives?
“My dad was wonderful to my mother,” I say, not considering my actions as I take a step forward. Daniel holds my hand tighter, in a warning that comes too late
“He was nothing,” Alden growls.
“He raised me ”
“He KEPT you from me,” the words rip from Alden’s mouth.
Realizing my mistake, I cower back, my eyes going wide. Alden takes a heavy step towards me, intimidation in every muscle of his body.
“Tell me the truth, girl,” he says, taking another step. “Did he know about your parentage? Did he know where she came from, who your real father was?”
Unable to deny it, I stay silent, keeping my face still.
“I thought so,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me. “He kept you from me, my daughter, not his! And he should die for it.”
I realize, suddenly, that I’m afraid of this man. That if this is what he’s like the first time meeting his daughter, then I can’t imagine the kind of things my mother must have gone through. She must have experienced moods that made her decide to pack up and leave him, to give up everything she’d ever known to keep me away.