Falling for My Ex’s Mafia Dad — Episode 11
Fay turned from the door and faced Kent. “This is not the eighteenth century,” she said. “Arranged marriages are not enforceable contracts.” Her voice sounded stronger when she used the language of law, the structure she trusted when human beings became unpredictable.
Kent slipped his hands into his pockets. “You’re in my world now.” He spoke without raising his voice, yet the room seemed to organize itself around his authority. “The world you were born into, whether David Thompson told you or not.”
Fay insisted she had rights. Kent’s expression hardened. Rights, he said, were promises made by institutions powerful enough to keep them. In his world, power came from money, armed loyalty, and a family name feared by enemies. Fay possessed only the last, and she did not know how to use it.
“Laws put you in prison,” she reminded him. The satisfaction lasted less than a breath. Kent spread his hands, inviting her to look at the tailored suit, private estate, and guards stationed beyond the door. “And here I am.”
Her own failed recommendation returned to humiliate her. She had tried to keep him imprisoned for life; hours later, he had appeared at Dean’s club as if walking out of a hotel. The guard had called him King because the title described a functioning system of loyalty, not an inflated ego. If the state could not contain Kent, Fay could not assume it would protect her from Lorenzo.
Kent retrieved the crumpled DNA report and smoothed it against a table. He told her that accepting the Alden name would restore wealth and protection stolen from her as a child. Fay heard only another man describing captivity as privilege, wrapped in the language of inheritance.
“I already have a family,” she said. “David and Janeen.” Kent reminded her that Janeen had been vulnerable to Dean because the Thompsons lacked the means to defend themselves. The cruelty of the observation did not make it false.
Fay demanded to see her sister. Kent said his people were still tracking Dean’s network and would bring Janeen somewhere safe once they found her. Until then, Fay’s cooperation was the best protection she could offer. The statement converted love into leverage with chilling efficiency.
She crossed her arms over Kent’s shirt, suddenly aware of how completely he controlled her circumstances. He had her phone, her blood, her mother’s knife, and information about everyone she loved. Even the clothing covering her belonged to him.
“If Lorenzo is your ally, call him and let him decide.” Fay hated herself for proposing it, but perhaps her biological father would reject a decades-old bargain. Kent’s gaze went unreadable. He warned that being claimed by Lorenzo might prove more dangerous than remaining beneath Lippert protection. An alliance did not mean trust, and a father who searched for blood might not care about the woman carrying it.
That hesitation revealed a fracture in the alliance. Fay seized on it, asking what Kent truly wanted from the marriage. He answered that joined bloodlines would stabilize both families and prevent rivals from exploiting Alden’s missing heir. The wedding would announce that neither dynasty could be attacked alone. It was strategy disguised as tradition, and Fay was the signature both men required.
“Daniel doesn’t want me,” she said. The admission hurt despite everything he had done. “He wants Colin.” Kent’s expression flickered, but only for an instant. Fay realized Daniel had hidden the truth from his father as carefully as he once hid it from her.
“My son understands duty,” Kent replied. The words sounded less like confidence than warning. Fay wondered whether Daniel’s fear of his family had been justified all along. His betrayal remained unforgivable, yet the cage around him had become visible.
Kent told her a car was waiting. She would return home under guard, pack what she needed, and say goodbye to David. Afterward she would live at the Lippert estate until Lorenzo arrived and the marriage arrangements were formalized.
“I’m not saying goodbye.” Fay’s refusal came instantly. Kent walked to the door and opened it. Three men waited in the corridor, dressed too elegantly to resemble guards until one noticed their identical stillness.
“Then remain here,” Kent said. “David can spend the rest of his life wondering why you vanished.” He began closing the door, allowing the shrinking gap to become a countdown. Fay pictured her father waiting through dawn, unaware whether both daughters were alive.
She rushed forward before the latch caught. Kent stepped aside, triumph concealed beneath composure. “I’m going home,” Fay said, “and I’m staying there.” No one argued. Their silence suggested her destination and her freedom were separate matters.
Kent returned her mother’s knife at last. Fay closed her fingers around the handle, comforted by its familiar weight even while wondering what blood had once marked the blade. “Take care with that,” he said. “It announces who you are.”
A bodyguard took Fay by the arm. She looked back at Kent, wanting to promise he would regret every boundary he had crossed. His eyes lowered briefly to the shirt wrapped around her body, and the heat in them made the words disappear.
“Good girl,” he murmured as the guards led her downstairs. Fay’s anger followed her into the waiting car, but so did a more frightening realization: to save her family, she might have to return voluntarily to the man who had just claimed her future.
