Falling for My Ex’s Mafia Dad Episode 6

📖 The Story Continues

Falling for My Ex’s Mafia Dad — Episode 06

Fay pounded on the locked staff door until a passing employee finally opened it with a resentful glance. She slipped through before he could question her, leaving the music behind for a dim corridor that smelled of alcohol and industrial cleaner. “Janeen?” she called, but only the thud of bass answered through the walls.

Several unmarked doors lined the passage. Fay tried each handle, her urgency growing with every locked room. She found a storage closet, an empty office, and a stairwell descending into darkness. There was no sign of her sister or Dean, only the awful knowledge that the club offered countless places to hide violence.

Dean stepped from an intersecting hall so quietly that Fay nearly collided with him. He had removed his jacket, and one cuff was rolled back as though he had been interrupted during unpleasant work. “Where is my sister?” Fay demanded, forcing herself not to retreat.

“She went to the bathroom.” His answer came too smoothly. Fay looked past him, but the corridor behind his body was dark. “Where is it?” she asked. Dean smiled and gestured toward the shadows. “Right this way. I’ll show you.”

Fay followed because leaving Janeen alone was unthinkable, yet every step tightened the warning in her chest. Dean opened a door at the end of the hall and waited for her to enter first. The room beyond held a stained couch, a desk, and no visible second exit.

“Janeen?” Fay called. The door clicked shut behind her. When she turned, Dean stood against it with the key in his hand. His smile had changed, stripped of the thin politeness he wore in public. Fay’s training named the danger instantly, but knowing its shape did not provide an escape.

“If you wanted to be alone with me, you could’ve just said so,” he remarked. Fay backed away until the desk struck her hip. “What are you doing?” she asked, then abandoned restraint as he advanced. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Dean caught her arm when she tried to move around him and threw her onto the couch. Fay twisted before he could pin both wrists, driving a knee upward, but he blocked it and struck her leg aside. Panic surged hot and blinding. She needed to think, not merely react.

“You women are good for two things,” he said, leaning his weight over her. “Getting fucked and being a cash cow.” His bitterness revealed the system Janeen had been trapped inside: work, debt, intimidation, and the constant threat that refusal would cost more than wages.

Fay clawed at his hand as it closed around her wrist. Dean called working for him a privilege, as though exploitation became generosity when spoken by the man profiting from it. She understood now why Janeen had sent her away. Her sister had been protecting Fay from a danger she faced alone.

“If it’s money you want, I can get it,” Fay said. Her voice shook, but bargaining might buy time. “Just let Janeen and me go. Tell me what she owes, and I’ll pay it.” She had no idea where she would find the money, yet any promise was worth making if it opened the door.

Dean’s eyes flickered at the offer, and Fay pressed the advantage. She mentioned Daniel’s wealthy family without explaining that the relationship was over, hoping the Lippert name carried enough influence to frighten him. Instead, Dean seemed amused by what he assumed was a desperate bluff.

Dean laughed, unconvinced by fear but interested in leverage. “First,” he said, dragging her closer, “I’m going to fuck you.” The words extinguished any hope that payment alone would satisfy him. This was not about debt. It was about proving that no woman in his reach could deny him.

Fay screamed and fought with everything she had. Her nails raked his cheek, drawing a bright line of blood. Dean cursed and slammed her wrist against the couch arm until her fingers went numb. The room blurred at the edges as terror threatened to overwhelm thought.

She looked toward the door, praying for an employee, a guard, anyone. Daniel’s offer of millions flashed absurdly through her mind, followed by the realization that money could have helped Janeen but would never have made this moment safe. Power mattered here, and Dean believed all of it belonged to him.

He seized the neckline of Fay’s dress. Fabric strained beneath his fist, the first seam beginning to tear. Fay turned her face away and braced for pain, furious that her body could freeze while her mind continued shouting commands it could not obey.

The door crashed inward hard enough to strike the wall. Dean jerked around, and the pressure vanished from Fay’s wrists. A man filled the doorway, backed by two silent figures in dark suits. Even before Fay saw his face, she recognized the authority that changed the air.

For one disorienting instant, Fay wondered whether terror had invented him. She had spent days hearing Kent’s promise in her mind, but there was nothing imagined about the splintered door or the abrupt fear on Dean’s face. The Mafia King had truly found her.

Kent Lippert had traded prison gray for a black suit that fit him like armor. No handcuffs restrained him, and no guards hovered nearby. He had fulfilled his promise to reach the outside, though Fay could not understand how or why he had appeared in this room at the exact moment she needed help.

His gaze moved from Fay’s torn dress to the bruising grip on her arm. The teasing arrogance she remembered disappeared, leaving something cold enough to make Dean stumble backward. Kent did not look like a rescuer from a romance novel. He looked like the reason dangerous men learned fear.

“Get off her.” The command was quiet, but Dean obeyed before seeming to realize he had moved. Fay pulled the damaged fabric over her chest and sat up, breath coming in ragged bursts. Relief tangled with disbelief as Kent stepped between her and the man who had attacked her.

Kent’s shoulders went rigid, and violence gathered in his expression with terrifying purpose. “How dare you touch my girl?” he said. Fay stared at his back, stunned by the possessive claim—and by the chilling possibility that Dean was no longer the most dangerous man in the room.