Fall For My Ex’s Mafia Father

Chapter 7 – True Identity–1

I’m in a daze, half in consciousness, half out of it –

I hear a moan – did that come?

I open my eyes, frowning. Where’s the car? I close my eyes against the warm yellow light of the room. I want to wake up, but I feel sleep pressing me back down –

A prick at my finger – I jump at it, pushing away the hands that hold my arm

“It’s all right,” a woman’s soft voice says. “All done now…”

Then, a man’s voice – I swim out of the darkness, propelled by fear. I know that voice.

“…to the lab, I want fast processing. I want it compared to the bloodline…”

I shake my head, groaning. I blink, looking around the finely–furnished room. I don’t know this place.

I push myself up until I’m seated with my feel curled beneath me on a chaise lounge. I notice that I’m still wearing my club outfit, but someone has buttoned a man’s white shirt over top of it. As I put my weight on my hands, I feel pain in my finger. I look down to see a Band–Aid on it. What –

Suddenly, a hazy memory comes back to me – a woman taking my blood, Lippert telling them to take it to some lab –

Panic seizes me – I must be somewhere on Lippert’s property. I grip the fabric of the couch, looking around for some kind of escape. There are windows, but they look out on tree tops – we’re certainly on the second floor or above-

Horrible images flood my mind – what the hell does Lippert want with my blood? Is he selling it? Does he want the sample so that he can let his cronies on the black market know my blood type so they can better bid on my organs!?

My hands anxiously fly to my hair, tangling in it. I stare at the door. Maybe if I just run

―

The door swings open and I hold my breath.

Kent Lippert stands in the doorway, studying me as I stare at him. I know what he sees a feral, frightened creature, ready to spring.

But he doesn’t laugh at me, or scare me any further. After a long moment, he just closes the door behind him and walks forward.

My breath comes faster as he approaches, as he reaches in his pocket, brings forward – oh my god – a knife –

I flinch back away from it and he sighs, continuing to hold out his hand.

“It’s your knife, Fay. I’m just returning your property.”

I go still, glancing between his face and the knife in his hand. My mother’s knife. I leap forward to snatch it out of his palm, but he yanks it away, putting out his other hand to halt my movement. His hand lands squarely on my chest and he gives a tiny shove

says, his voice all authority. “I’ll give it back. I just

up at him, totally

forward to loom over me, his voice merely a whisper. “I’ll flush this

again.”

clench my jaw and nod, my eyes on my mother’s knife, desperate

get that knife, Fay Thompson?” he asks, straightening up and putting the hand with

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Gifts

7 – True

I say softly, twirling a stray strand of my hair around my index finger. Why does he keep saying my last name like that? “She gave

did she

I say. “My dad told me to carry it

head to the side, curious. “And who,

up at him, frowning. Why does he care who my father is, but not my mother? “None of your

town, I can hurt whoever I want. You think you are trying to delay me by holding back his name, but with every minute you hesitate, that’s one

widen in horror at the

cat that has trapped its

I murmur, not knowing what else to do. “Please,” I say, begging now. “Please don’t hurt them. They’re

the blade to me. I snatch it out of his palm.

the room.

trump card. “Please!” I shout after him. “Please

Then, slowly, he

bite

his head. “My son Daniel is

biting my lip against the tiny white lie – he’s not my boyfriend

that…serendipitous,”

to the lounge he grabs me by the elbow, pulling me to my feet, shaking me

are?” His voice is angry, as if frustrated by my incompetence.

– I’m –” my face is lost in confusion – I just told him who I

am

–

biological father?” He shakes my arm again as if trying

open in shock, confusion. How did he know David’s not my biological

close to me now, glaring down into my face. I feel my lower lip tremble traitorously and I pull it into my mouth, desperate not to show weakness. Kent’s eyes flick to my mouth as I do so, watching the action. Slowly, he exhales and, for

lets me

from you. The woman who owned that knife was Victoria O’Leary, the mistress of

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