Falling for My Ex’s Mafia Dad Episode 4

📖 The Story Continues

Falling for My Ex’s Mafia Dad — Episode 04

Fay’s shock hardened into anger. Kent still held her wrist across the metal table, his fingers warm and unyielding around her skin. His claim was invasive, impossible, and delivered with enough confidence to make her feel exposed. She pulled again and found him watching her resistance with open enjoyment.

“If you don’t let me go, I’ll scream.” Her professional tone had vanished, but the threat was real. The guard could not be far, no matter how much influence Kent possessed. Fay refused to believe prison rules had become optional simply because the inmate was feared.

Kent’s eyes darkened with amusement. “Do you promise?” he asked. The answer carried a sensual implication that sent heat across Fay’s face. She hated him for noticing, and hated herself more for the confusing current that traveled beneath her fear.

“Guard!” she shouted. The door opened at once, and a broad officer in a cowboy hat stepped into the room. Relief lasted only until Fay saw the man’s expression. He looked not at her for instructions, but at Kent for permission.

Kent released her and gestured toward the door with contemptuous ease. “Get out of here, Cowboy.” The officer hesitated for barely a second before obeying. When the lock clicked again, Fay stared after him, understanding that the interview room had never offered the protection she assumed.

“I run this prison, Doc,” Kent said. He settled back in his chair as if the interruption had proved an ordinary point. Fay rubbed the red mark on her wrist and forced herself to remain seated. Leaving now would confirm that intimidation could end the evaluation on his terms.

“He might be afraid of you, but I am not.” The lie emerged cleanly enough to sound convincing. Fay straightened the scattered pages in her folder. “I still determine your chances for early release, so I suggest you cooperate with me.” If the law retained any authority here, she intended to use it.

Kent studied her with renewed interest. Defiance pleased him more than obedience, a fact Fay found deeply unhelpful. She turned to the offense-history section before he could invade another boundary. “Please describe the actions that resulted in your imprisonment.”

Fay forced herself to remember that arrogance was often a shield. If she could move him away from flirtation and toward facts, she might still identify the anger, remorse, or lack of empathy the state expected her to assess. The interview could be salvaged if Kent allowed even one honest answer.

His gaze dropped instead to the front of her blouse. “Your shirt gives it all away.” Fay looked down despite herself, wondering whether a button had opened during the struggle. Nothing seemed wrong, yet the movement pulled the fabric tighter and made his meaning humiliatingly clear.

“Mr. Lippert.” She crossed one arm over herself and glared at him. “I suggest you take this seriously.” Her pen hovered above the form, though she had recorded almost nothing. The assessment was becoming an inventory of provocation rather than psychological evidence.

“Darling, I couldn’t take you seriously if I tried.” Kent rose without warning and circled the table. Fay pushed back her chair, but the wall stopped it after a few inches. He planted one hand beside her shoulder, close enough that his clean, dark scent replaced the prison’s sterile air.

She pressed a palm to his chest and shoved. He barely moved, but his expression changed at the challenge. “No.” The word came from somewhere deeper than fear. Whatever authority Kent commanded beyond these walls, her body and dignity were not his territory.

“Good,” he murmured, looking down at the hand braced against him. “I like my girls a little feisty.” The possessive phrasing ignited Fay’s temper. He had reduced her credentials, tested her fear, and turned every professional question into a game. She was finished playing.

Kent stepped back at last, but the concession felt chosen rather than won. He returned to his side of the table and waited, apparently curious to see what she would do with the illusion of control. Fay refused to waste the opening.

Fay slipped past him and returned to the table, gathering her papers with sharp, controlled movements. “That’s it. I’ve given you plenty of chances to participate.” Her hands shook, but her decision did not. “I’ll recommend continued imprisonment without parole.”

She wrote the recommendation across the form with enough pressure to score the paper beneath it. The conclusion was professionally defensible: manipulation, disregard for boundaries, refusal to cooperate, and unchecked control over staff. Naming those facts restored a sliver of her confidence.

For the first time, Kent’s smile faded entirely. The stillness that replaced it was more intimidating than his teasing. Fay told herself she had finally reached him, that consequences had penetrated his arrogance. She should have recognized the look as calculation rather than concern.

“Cowboy,” Kent called, never raising his voice. The guard returned almost immediately. Kent nodded toward Fay as though inviting the officer to correct a child’s misunderstanding. “Why don’t we tell sweet little Dr. Fay who determines my release date?”

The officer swallowed. His eyes apologized before his mouth betrayed the institution he served. “You do, King Lippert.” The title hung in the room like an oath of allegiance. Fay felt the last illusion of state control collapse beneath it.

Kent moved closer, reclaiming the space she had fought to establish. “I’ll see you on the outside, Doctor.” It was not a hope or even a promise. He spoke as a man announcing a scheduled appointment, one no judge or locked gate could prevent.

“We’ll see about that.” Fay forced herself to meet his eyes, though the guard’s submission had turned her blood cold. She clutched the failed assessment to her chest and walked toward the door, refusing to give Kent the satisfaction of watching her run.

Behind her, his low voice followed with absolute certainty. “You can count on it.” The door shut between them, but Fay already understood the terrifying truth: prison had never contained Kent Lippert, and now he had decided their encounter would continue beyond its walls