Falling for My Ex’s Mafia Dad — Episode 27
The wedding gown spilled from Fiona’s hands in layers of ivory silk. Fay stared at the fitted bodice, delicate beadwork, and long train while six strangers rearranged her bedroom into a bridal salon. It was beautiful enough to awaken a childhood dream she had never realized she still carried.
As a girl, she had imagined David walking her down a church aisle while Janeen cried too loudly in the front pew. The groom’s face had changed through the years, but he had never been a gay best friend participating in a Mafia treaty. Beauty did not soften the cruelty of the substitution.
Fiona noticed her hesitation and dismissed the assistants until only the two of them remained. She said trying on a dress was not the same as consenting to a marriage. Fay could borrow the fantasy, judge the armor, and reject both later if she found enough power to do so.
Fay stepped into the gown. Fiona fastened the hidden hooks and drew the fabric over her hips with expert hands. When Fay faced the mirror, the woman reflected there looked older, more composed, and terrifyingly suited to the world that had claimed her.
The neckline framed Victoria’s pendant, while the narrow waist gave way to a skirt designed for movement rather than helpless display. Fay ran her fingers over the beadwork and realized the pattern was not floral. Tiny emeralds formed the Alden crest among silver Lippert leaves.
“This isn’t a dress,” she whispered. “It’s a flag.” Fiona smiled without denying it. At the engagement announcement, every photograph would communicate the merger before reporters read a statement. Fay’s body would carry the message between two criminal empires.
Anger cooled the wonder. Fay asked for something without family symbols, and Fiona produced a second gown in pale gold. It was sleek and modern, with a high neckline and an open back that made Fay feel both protected and exposed.
Three more followed: romantic lace, severe satin, and a dramatic Herrera gown with a skirt the color of winter moonlight. Fiona encouraged her to notice how each silhouette changed her posture. By the fifth dress, Fay was no longer playing bride; she was studying possible versions of authority.
A knock sounded, and Kent entered without waiting. He stopped just inside the room when he saw her in the Herrera. Control erased his reaction almost immediately, but not before Fay caught the heat in his eyes and the way his breath stalled.
Fiona asked whether the choice met with his approval. Kent circled Fay at a respectful distance, evaluating seams and tailoring with surprising knowledge. He discussed the train, the placement of the crest, and which designer could alter the back before the public announcement.
Fay turned slowly beneath his scrutiny. The gown made her feel powerful enough to return the examination, letting her gaze travel from his immaculate collar to the cuff hiding his bandage. Kent’s jaw tightened. For several suspended seconds, the bedroom held no father, fiancée, or mistress—only two people dangerously aware of each other.
Fiona broke the silence by asking whether Kent liked it. He said the Herrera was the correct choice and told an assistant outside to charge it to his account. Then he ordered the neckline raised by half an inch, which made Fay’s temper spark.
“My neckline is not a security decision.” Fay refused the alteration. Kent said half the men at the announcement would already view her as leverage, and she did not need to offer them distraction. She replied that their lack of discipline was not her obligation to manage.
Kent stepped closer, lowering his voice. The issue was not what other men might do, but what he might do to any man who looked too long. The admission escaped before he could disguise it as protection. Fiona’s eyebrows rose with open delight.
Fay’s pulse beat hard beneath the pinned fabric. She told him Daniel should be the jealous one. Kent’s gaze dropped to her engagement ring, and something cold returned to his face. “Then perhaps Daniel should learn to pay attention,” he said before leaving.
The door closed with controlled force. Fay stared after him, ashamed of the thrill his jealousy had sent through her. She had promised to protect Daniel’s truth, not use their false engagement to provoke his father. Yet Kent’s restraint had become a locked door she could not stop testing.
Fiona began removing the pins and asked whether Fay finally understood. Kent had selected every gown himself, including the one that appeared free of family symbolism. He knew designers because he had dressed women for negotiations, funerals, weddings, and wars long before Fay entered his home.
“Why would he choose mine?” Fay asked. Fiona said Kent controlled details whenever the larger situation frightened him. The answer revealed more than gossip: he had turned anxiety about Fay into fabric, measurements, and decisions he could command.
Fay changed into a soft green dress while Fiona sent the assistants away with alteration notes. The wedding gown remained before the mirror, shaped around the memory of Fay’s body. For one foolish instant, she imagined wearing it for a man who actually wanted her—and saw Kent waiting at the altar instead of Daniel.
Fiona caught the direction of her gaze and offered wine before Fay could retreat into guilt. She promised a hidden garden where cameras could not listen and women could tell each other the truth. Then her smile sharpened. “Come on, Baby Fay. It’s time you learned what your future father-in-law keeps downstairs.”
