📖 The Story Continues
The story doesn't end here.Continue reading the full story adaptation below and discover what happens next.
Falling for My Ex’s Mafia Dad — Episode 08
“You know, Doc,” Kent murmured, his breath warm against Fay’s skin, “I wanted to do this the first day I met you.” His fingers closed around the torn strap of her dress. With one swift pull, the damaged fabric gave way, and Fay gasped as she caught the front against her chest.
“Wait.” The word came from Kent, not Fay. His attention had shifted from her exposed shoulder to the pendant resting at the base of her throat. Desire vanished beneath a sudden, dangerous focus. He reached for the necklace, turning its engraved face toward the light.
Fay slapped his hand away and covered the pendant. “Where did you get this?” he demanded. The question was no longer playful. She had worn the necklace for as long as she could remember, one of the few possessions tied to her childhood, and no stranger had the right to interrogate her about it.
“Give it back.” Kent had already lifted the pendant again, examining the crest without breaking the chain. Fay grabbed for it, but he caught her wrist. His eyes moved between the symbol and her face as though comparing two pieces of evidence that should not have existed together.
“You have secrets, don’t you?” he asked. Fay almost laughed at the accusation. Her life was painfully ordinary: a struggling psychologist, a protective sister, parents who had raised her far from criminal dynasties. Kent was the one surrounded by secrets, armed men, and prison officials who called him king.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She tried to pull free. Kent released her wrist only to turn toward the door. “You’re coming with me,” he said. The decision sounded final, made without consulting the person whose life he had just rearranged.
Fay backed toward the desk. “No. I’m not going anywhere with you.” Kent’s men had not returned with news of Janeen, and leaving the club was unthinkable. Yet the intensity in his face suggested the necklace had transformed her from an inconvenient attraction into a matter of urgent business.
She spotted an opening beside him and lunged for the door. Kent caught her around the waist before she made two steps. Fay kicked backward, but he lifted her with humiliating ease and swung her over his shoulder, one arm securing her legs while the room turned upside down.
“Put me down!” She struck his back and twisted, but the movement only tightened his hold. Kent carried her into the corridor, where employees quickly looked away. No one challenged him. Fay’s fear rose as she realized rescue would not come from people who valued survival over her freedom.
“You were so fierce a minute ago,” Kent observed. “Now look at you—just a frightened little girl.” Fay hated the accuracy of it. Dean’s attack still lived in her muscles, and being carried away by another powerful man made every instinct scream, regardless of the fact that Kent had saved her.
She reached for a doorframe as he passed. Kent pulled her hand loose and delivered a sharp smack to the back of her thigh, startling more than injuring her. “We’re not going to try anything like that again, are we, Fay?” he asked with infuriating calm.
The use of her first name felt more intimate than it should. “You can’t kidnap me,” she said, breathless with fury. Kent continued through a private exit and into a waiting car. “I think I need to teach you a lesson,” he replied, setting her inside before taking the seat beside her.
Fay pressed herself against the opposite door. “No.” She tested the handle, but the lock did not move. Kent’s gaze returned to the pendant, and she covered it with her palm. Whatever he recognized in the crest, it had made him willing to expose his power without disguise.
The car carried them to a secluded estate protected by iron gates and armed security. Fay counted turns, memorized landmarks, and searched for a chance to signal anyone outside. By the time they stopped, she understood that Kent’s world was designed to admit people only on his terms.
He assured her that Janeen had been found alive and was being taken somewhere safe, but relief could not erase Fay’s suspicion. Kent possessed her sister’s location, controlled the car doors, and knew something about the pendant he refused to explain. Every answer placed more power in his hands.
Inside, a woman named Fiona waited beside a medical case. Fay recoiled when she saw the sterile needle and collection tubes arranged on a tray. “Relax,” Kent said as one of his men guided her into a chair. “It’s just a little blood draw. Nothing to panic about.”
“Just a blood draw?” Fay stared at him. “You dragged me out of a club and brought me here without consent.” She pulled her arm against her body, but Fiona approached with an apologetic expression. Kent’s patience thinned, his need for an answer overpowering any concern for how he obtained it.
Fay fought when Fiona tied the band around her upper arm. She demanded to know whether Janeen was safe, whether the police knew where she was, and what the necklace had to do with any of this. Kent answered none of it. His silence was more frightening than his threats.
The needle pierced her skin, and dark blood flowed into the waiting tube. Fay turned her face away, breathing through the sting and the helplessness. Dean had treated women as sources of cash and pleasure; now Kent treated her body as a source of evidence. Rescue and captivity had begun to resemble each other.
“Fiona, get it to the lab,” Kent ordered when the vial was sealed. “Have it tested against the bloodline immediately.” Fiona placed the sample in a protective case and hurried from the room. Bloodline. The word struck Fay with a terror deeper than the needle.
She looked from the closed door to Kent’s unreadable face. “Are you running some kind of organ-harvesting ring?” she demanded, struggling to make sense of the impossible situation. Kent did not smile. As his gaze settled on her pendant again, Fay asked the only question that mattered: “Why did you take my blood?”
