Falling for My Ex’s Mafia Dad — Episode 21
Fiona’s manicured hand remained extended between them. Fay accepted it, expecting cool appraisal from a rival, but the woman’s grip was warm and enthusiastic. “It’s nice to meet you,” Fay said carefully, conscious of Kent watching from the stove and Daniel studying both women from across the table. The welcome disarmed her more effectively than hostility would have, leaving her uncertain where to place all the defenses she had prepared.
“Oh, baby, I already know everything.” Fiona’s thick New York accent made the declaration sound affectionate rather than threatening. She nodded toward Kent and called him Big Boy with enough casual confidence to make Fay blink. No one else in the house seemed brave enough to turn the Mafia King into a nickname.
Fiona said Kent had told her about the lost Alden daughter, the engagement, and the chaos at Dean’s club. Fay wondered how he had described carrying her away, taking her blood, and forcing her family out of her life. Fiona’s sympathetic gaze suggested she had heard more than the official version.
“Only good things, I hope,” Fay replied. Fiona laughed and said Kent rarely spoke that much about anyone, good or bad. The comment drew a sharp look from him across the kitchen, but Fiona appeared delighted rather than warned.
She bent to kiss Daniel’s cheek. His stiff posture softened despite his earlier discomfort, revealing years of familiarity. Fiona called him one of her babies and asked whether he had finally learned to make his own coffee. Daniel told her his father refused to let anyone else near the machine this morning.
Fiona followed Daniel’s glance to Fay’s cappuccino and smiled knowingly. “Of course he did.” The four simple words carried an intimacy with Kent’s habits that made Fay’s jealousy flare again. She lowered her eyes before the reaction could become another piece of household gossip.
Then Fiona pointed one red nail at her. “You’re shopping with me today.” Fay started to object, but Fiona had already decided. The clothes upstairs were emergency selections, she explained; an Alden woman meeting her biological father required a wardrobe that communicated power before she spoke.
“I’m not a doll,” Fay said. Fiona’s expression turned unexpectedly serious. In their world, clothing was not decoration but armor. Men would underestimate Fay because she looked young, gentle, and untrained. A carefully constructed image could make that mistake expensive.
The explanation appealed to Fay more than talk of luxury. Psychology had taught her that appearance influenced judgment before evidence entered the room. If she could not refuse the meeting with Lorenzo, she could at least control the first version of herself he encountered.
Kent approached and informed them that no one was leaving the estate. Fiona rolled her eyes. She had expected the order and arranged for several boutiques to bring private selections to the mansion. “Protection doesn’t have to mean ugly,” she told him.
Fay asked when Lorenzo would arrive. The kitchen quieted enough for her to notice. Kent said her father’s plane had landed and his convoy was already moving toward the estate. They had less than three hours.
The word father pressed against a bruise David’s absence had left inside her. Fiona noticed the change in Fay’s face and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Blood can introduce you,” she said quietly. “It doesn’t get to rewrite who raised you.”
Fay looked at her in surprise. The advice contradicted Kent’s insistence that she had only one father now. Fiona glanced toward him, a flash of private defiance behind her smile. Whatever their relationship involved, obedience was clearly not its foundation.
Daniel volunteered to attend the fitting, but Fiona dismissed him. Seeing the dress before the entrance would ruin the effect. She promised to return his fiancée polished, dangerous, and still technically the same woman.
Kent’s jaw tightened at the word fiancée. Fay caught the reaction and wondered whether he disliked Fiona teasing Daniel or disliked being reminded whom Fay was supposed to marry. Neither possibility offered safety.
Staff transformed an upstairs suite into a private showroom. Dresses, shoes, and jewelry arrived beneath garment covers while armed guards checked every courier. Fay stood in the center of the luxury and remembered Janeen stretching rent money between groceries and utilities.
Fiona seemed to read the guilt. She told Fay that refusing expensive clothes would not return the money to poor families; it would only send her into a political meeting unprepared. Power was already in the room. Fay’s task was to decide whether she would use any of it. Even borrowed armor, Fiona reminded her, could stop a real blade.
They selected a fitted ivory dress beneath a deep green jacket, elegant without making Fay look submissive. Fiona replaced the diamonds with Fay’s mother’s pendant, arguing that the Alden crest should be visible when Lorenzo saw his daughter.
The necklace settled against Fay’s throat like both inheritance and warning. She studied herself in the mirror. The woman reflected there still had frightened eyes, but the clothing made fear look like calculation. For the first time, Fay understood how appearance could buy the seconds needed to think.
A low procession of engines sounded beyond the windows. Fiona drew back the curtain, revealing black cars entering through the estate gates. Men emerged first, checking weapons and sight lines; then an older, silver-haired man stepped from the central car and looked directly toward Fay’s window. Lorenzo Alden had come to claim his daughter.
