Falling for My Ex’s Mafia Dad Episode 7

📖 The Story Continues

Falling for My Ex’s Mafia Dad — Episode 07

“Your girl?” Dean repeated. His face lost color as recognition overtook confusion. Whatever Kent’s reputation meant beyond prison walls, Dean understood it immediately. The man who had treated Fay and Janeen as property now looked desperate to prove he owned nothing at all.

“Boss, I didn’t know,” Dean stammered. He raised both hands and retreated until the wall stopped him. “She never said she was with you.” His defense turned Fay’s stomach. He was not sorry for the assault; he was sorry he had chosen a woman protected by someone stronger.

Kent crossed the room without hurry. That calm frightened Dean more than a shouted threat could have. “Try that stunt on any other woman,” Kent said, “and I’ll feed your balls to my dogs.” The crude promise carried no trace of exaggeration.

Dean nodded so rapidly that sweat gathered at his temples. “Are we clear?” Kent asked. “Yes, sir. Yes.” The answer came in a broken rush. Fay had spent her career studying coercion, but she had never witnessed fear reshape a man so completely.

“Now crawl out of here before I gut you.” Kent stepped aside and pointed toward the ruined doorway. Dean dropped to his hands and knees without argument. He crawled past Fay with his eyes lowered, leaving blood from the scratch on his cheek against the dirty floor.

Fay watched him disappear into the corridor, torn between satisfaction and horror. Part of her wanted Kent to make good on every threat after what Dean had done. Another part knew justice should not depend on which violent man possessed the greater reach.

Two of Kent’s men followed Dean, ensuring he did not stand once out of sight. Fay seized the moment to search the room for any sign of Janeen. Her purse lay beneath the desk, but Janeen herself was gone. At least the abandoned bag suggested she had been here—and might still be somewhere in the club.

Kent turned back to Fay. His anger did not ease with Dean’s departure; it merely found a new direction. “Doc,” he said, looking over her torn dress and disheveled hair, “I told you I’d see you on the outside. I didn’t mean here.”

“I didn’t plan this,” Fay snapped. Adrenaline made her voice sharper than caution advised. “I came to find my sister.” She stood, then caught the couch arm when her knees weakened. Kent’s hand moved toward her but stopped before touching, as if he had noticed the fear she could not hide.

“What is a girl like you doing in a place like this?” he demanded. The question carried accusation rather than concern, as though her presence in the club had invited Dean’s attack. Fay’s gratitude flared into anger. She refused to accept blame from the man who had just defended her.

“A girl like me?” She straightened despite the ache in her wrist. “My sister works here, and her boss dragged her away. I followed because she needed help.” Kent’s jaw tightened at the mention of Janeen, and he signaled one of his remaining men to begin searching.

“She’ll be found,” he said, and the certainty in his voice eased a fraction of Fay’s panic. Kent removed his jacket and held it out. After a moment’s hesitation, she accepted it, wrapping the dark fabric around her torn dress while his lingering warmth settled over her skin.

The effortless order reminded Fay who he was. Prison doors had opened for Kent because institutions bent around his power; now an entire nightclub seemed to do the same. Employees watched from the corridor but offered neither protest nor explanation. They knew the Mafia King had arrived, and the building no longer belonged to Dean.

“Mr. Lippert,” Fay began, trying to recover the distance of her professional role. Kent’s expression sharpened. The title sounded absurd after he had torn her attacker away and called her his. Still, formality was the only boundary she had left.

“Don’t do that.” He stepped closer. Fay’s back met the desk, echoing the trap Dean had created minutes earlier, yet the sensation was dangerously different. Her body remained tense, but fear was no longer the only force racing beneath her skin.

“Do what?” she asked. Kent’s gaze settled on her mouth. Fay realized she was biting her lower lip and immediately released it. The tiny movement drew his attention more intensely, as if she had issued a challenge without understanding the language.

“You know what you’re doing.” His voice lowered. Fay did not know whether he meant the title, her defiance, or the nervous pressure of her teeth against her lip. Perhaps he meant all of it. Under his scrutiny, innocence itself felt like a provocation.

She should have reminded him that saving her did not grant him ownership. She should have demanded Janeen’s location and left the moment his men found her. Instead, Fay remained caught between the desk and the heat of Kent’s body, wondering why the man who frightened everyone else made her feel vividly, recklessly alive.

Kent lifted one hand toward her face. Fay flinched before she could stop herself. His expression changed, anger flashing again—not at her, she realized, but at the bruise Dean had left along her jaw. His thumb hovered near it without making contact.

The restraint unsettled her more than his earlier grip in the prison. Kent had ignored her boundaries then, yet now he waited as though some silent permission mattered. Fay’s breath shortened. The room seemed to narrow around the space between his hand and her skin.

His gaze dropped once more to her mouth, and the last trace of restraint vanished from his eyes. Fay knew she should move, speak, or call for the men searching for Janeen. Before she managed any of those things, Kent leaned closer, intent on doing what he had wanted since the day they met.