Chapter 252

“You’re home early, Fay,” Kent says, stepping closer to me and glaring at Jerome, his expression clearly communicating I’ll deal with you later as Jerome heads back into the house, shutting the door behind him.

“I needed to,” I say, stepping close to Kent and then hesitating, glancing towards the door before stepping closer and wrapping my arms around his waist, needing a moment to feel him close to me. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

Kent hesitates a moment before wrapping his own arms around me, holding me tight to him and dropping a kiss to the top of my head before letting me go and stepping back. His expression is sorry, I can read his regret all over his face – if it were up to him, he’d hold me as long as I needed.

“What are you sorry for?” he asks, looking at me warily, clearly torn between being worried for me and suspicious.

And I swallow the truth a little. I’m sorry because I broke the rules – I let Ivan touch me – but suddenly, I really, really don’t want him to know. So I lie.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t get more information,” I say, giving a sad little shrug.

Kent sees through me, I think, a little bit. But he lets me continue, I think because he can see that I’m truly rattled. “What did you get, Fay?” he asks, his posture shifting as he realizes that this is serious. And suddenly, as I look at him, there’s none of my Kent left. Just the Mafia King.

“A timeline,” I say quietly, straightening my shoulders and looking up into his face. “One week,” I say, my voice steadier than I thought it would be.

“Ivan told me I have one week to get out of this house. Or else I’ll probably die. With the rest of you.”

And Kent stares at me for a moment before turning his head sharply and cursing a deep and steady stream of curses. And he doesn’t look at me again as he turns and storms towards the house.

I don’t say a word either as I hang my head and follow behind.

When we get into the house, my day is instantly made worse.

Because the first person we run into is Natalia.

“Ah, Fay,” she says, giving me a false little smile as she peers around Kent to look at me as I come through the garage door. “Good to have you home. You can help me cook!”

“Cook?” I ask, blinking at her, still rattled by my morning and Kent’s reaction to it.

“Yes!” she says, smiling at me and then up at Kent. I stare at her, confused, because there’s absolutely no way that she hasn’t picked up on either of our moods. And then I blink as I realize that of course she has – she’s just playing her role as the perfect Mafia wife. The woman who lets her husband handle everything while she just blissfully maintains the home, trusting that he’ll keep it under control.

Fall For My Ex's Mafia Father Chapter 0251 And I scowl at her as I figure that out. Because this morning just further proves that I’m the opposite of a Mafia wife, sticking my nose so far in this business that I’m not sure I’ll ever get it out. I see Natalia’s smile twist a little as she sees me scowl.

“I’m making dinner,” Natalia continues, looking up at Kent. “A proper Italian meal for my hungry Italian men!” Then she laughs and puts a too-familiar hand on Kent’s chest. “That is,” she says, pretending to hesitate a little and looking up at him with big doe eyes, “if that’s all right with you?”

“Sure, Natalia,” Kent says, loosening his tie and glancing back at me before striding off to his office. “Whatever you want.”

I stare after Kent for a moment and then look back to Natalia, who is smirking at me like she’s already won. “So?” she says, nodding towards the kitchen. “You will come help?”

“Sorry, Natalia,” I say, instantly shifting into my good fiancé act. “I already told Daniel I’d help him study.” And then I pout exaggeratedly at her and turn towards the stairs, my mind already beyond her and turning towards what the hell we’re going to do.

“You’ll have to learn to cook, Fay!” she calls after me in a teasing, sing-song tone, “if you want to be a good wife!”

“Not if we’re all dead, Natalia!” I mutter under my breath, mimicking her sing-song inflection as I haul myself up the stairs.

“Dinner at six!” she calls after me, louder this time. But I just roll my eyes and keep walking. Because honestly? We’ve got bigger problems than pasta right now.