Falling for My Ex’s Mafia Dad Episode 5

📖 The Story Continues

Falling for My Ex’s Mafia Dad — Episode 05

The nightclub was everything Fay usually avoided—too loud, too crowded, and too determined to make strangers forget themselves. Colored lights swept over the dance floor while bass vibrated through the small table beneath her hands. She had agreed to come only because Janeen insisted heartbreak should not be endured alone in a quiet apartment.

Her older sister returned from the bar carrying two drinks and a triumphant grin. “I’m so glad you decided to come out tonight,” Janeen said, sliding into the chair opposite her. She looked brighter beneath the lights, but exhaustion lingered around her eyes in a way makeup could not entirely conceal.

Fay thanked her and tried to smile. She had not told Janeen about Daniel yet. Saying the betrayal aloud would make it solid, and she was not ready for the inevitable questions—or for the anger Janeen would unleash on her behalf. For one evening, Fay wanted to pretend the relationship had not collapsed.

“So,” Janeen began, leaning forward, “how are things with that walking red flag Daniel? Have you met his family yet?” The question should have summoned Daniel’s guilty face. Instead, Fay remembered Kent bending over her wrist, inhaling lavender as though her skin had confessed to him.

You must be a virgin. The words returned with humiliating clarity. She could still feel the pressure of his fingers around her pulse and see the certainty in his dark eyes. How had he known? Training offered explanations involving observation and manipulation, but none explained why the memory made warmth coil low in her stomach.

“Earth to Fay?” Janeen waved a hand before her face. Fay blinked and dragged herself out of the prison interview room. “Yes. I mean, no,” she stammered. “Things are good. Daniel is really very…sweet.” Even to her own ears, the lie sounded painfully weak.

Janeen narrowed her eyes. She had always been able to detect Fay’s evasions, even when their parents could not. “So that means you still haven’t slept together?” she asked with sisterly bluntness. Fay stiffened, hearing Kent’s voice beneath the question.

“So? What’s wrong with that?” Her defensiveness came too quickly. Janeen lifted both hands, apologizing before Fay could retreat further. There was no judgment in her expression, only concern sharpened by whatever she thought Daniel had failed to give.

“Nothing is wrong with it,” Janeen said. “I just think you deserve to feel desired. That’s all.” The words struck somewhere vulnerable. Daniel had made Fay feel cherished but never wanted; Kent had made her feel wanted before he knew anything kind or worthy about her. Neither possibility resembled the love story she had believed she wanted.

Fay took a cautious sip of her drink and studied her sister more closely. Janeen kept glancing toward the bar, her earlier humor fading. A man had entered through the staff door and was crossing the club with an expression that caused employees to scatter from his path.

“Dean’s headed this way,” Janeen said under her breath. “I thought he was off tonight.” The curse that followed was almost lost beneath the music, but Fay heard the fear inside it. Janeen reached for her drink and missed the glass on her first attempt.

Dean stopped beside their table. He was broad, overdressed, and carried himself with the petty authority of a man who enjoyed having vulnerable people depend on him. Janeen forced a professional smile. “Hey, boss. How’s it going?”

Fay noticed faint yellow bruises circling Janeen’s wrist just before her sister tugged down a bracelet to hide them. Her stomach tightened. Janeen had blamed similar marks on carrying liquor crates, an explanation Fay had accepted because the alternative demanded action neither sister knew how to take.

“We need to talk,” Dean said. He did not greet Fay or lower his voice. “Now.” His hand closed around Janeen’s upper arm before she could rise, fingers digging into bare skin. Fay’s attention fixed on the grip and the way her sister tried not to react to the pain.

Janeen hurried to defuse the moment. She introduced Fay as her little sister, smiling too brightly while Dean barely glanced in Fay’s direction. “Listen,” he said to Janeen, tightening his hold. “We need to talk in the back. Let’s go.”

Every instinct Fay had developed through clinical work warned her that this was not an ordinary employment conversation. Dean was using proximity, isolation, and public embarrassment to force compliance. Janeen knew it too; the fear in her eyes vanished behind a protective expression whenever she looked at Fay.

“I’ll be right back, sis,” Janeen promised. “It’s just work stuff.” She freed one hand long enough to touch Fay’s shoulder. “Actually, why don’t you head home? I’ll catch you there later.” The request sounded casual, but her fingers trembled.

Fay remained seated for one stunned second as Dean hauled Janeen toward the staff corridor. She remembered all the times Janeen had dismissed bruises as clumsiness and explained missing cash as bad tips. Separate details gathered into a pattern Fay should have recognized much sooner.

“Janeen!” she called, rising so quickly that the table lurched. Her sister looked back, but Dean shoved open the rear door and pulled her through. The music swallowed Fay’s protest, and nearby patrons kept dancing, unaware or unwilling to notice.

Fay pushed into the crowd, fighting against bodies moving in the opposite direction. Ahead, the staff door began to swing closed. A man’s voice barked from the other side, “Get in there,” followed by Janeen’s frightened refusal.

She called for security, but the nearest bouncer deliberately turned his attention toward the dance floor. The refusal told Fay that Dean’s control extended beyond a single frightened employee. If she wanted to reach Janeen, she would have to do it without the club’s help.

The door slammed just before Fay reached it. She seized the handle, but it would not turn. From somewhere beyond the locked corridor came a muffled impact and her sister’s cry—then silence, leaving Fay with the sickening certainty that Dean had planned far more than a conversation.